


Shake the Foundation

by Waning_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Gets Shot, Dehydration, Demonic Possession, Demons, Explicit Language, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Starvation, Worried Castiel (Supernatural), Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waning_Grace/pseuds/Waning_Grace
Summary: St. Patrick's Day is supposed to be a day filled with fun and green beer, but this year it's going to be anything but for the Winchester's. When Dean goes missing after a night out at the bar following a bad hunt it's up to Sam to find him. When days go past with no leads Sam calls Castiel...but will the two of them be able to find Dean before it's too late?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Team Free Will Big Bang: Collection 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a wild ride in the making spanning over roughly three years but today is finally the day! I'm beyond pleased to have finally finished this and to be sharing it with everyone!
> 
> I'd like to say thank you to my friends who kept encouraging me to work on this--without you this probably wouldn't have gotten done! I'd like to also say a big thanks to Goblin*heart-eyescastiel for the wonderful artwork! The full set of artwork can be found here: https://heart-eyescastiel.tumblr.com/post/629538698154868737/here-is-the-artwork-for-shake-the-foundation

On the list of holidays the Winchesters celebrated, St. Patrick’s Day either rose or fell depending on time and their general proximity to a bar. This year, however, they actually hit it lucky for once. Their latest case had ended the day prior which meant the two hunters could celebrate the holiday as they wished. It was a bit of a shame then, that neither of them felt much like celebrating. 

Their last case had been the final one in a string of hunts that had gone on for weeks but it had ended the worst by far. What had started as a simple demon possession had turned weird fast when the Winchesters rolled into town to find the demon hanging around a school of all things. If that wasn’t weird enough it seemed the demon had a bit of a trickery side to it and had implemented a last minute holiday for all the students and staff. The move had certainly been strange on all accounts but since the weather had been surprisingly nice for mid-March no one was willing to look at it that closely. 

The weirdness had worked in the Winchesters' favor, at least they’d thought it had. Unfortunately for them the demon had been a slippery bastard to track down. It had managed to jump from school staff member to the next until finally landing inside the maintenance man named Rick. From there the fight had been brutal, but quick, and had unfortunately ended with Rick’s death as well as the demon’s. It was not the way either Winchester had been hoping to end things and so they’d left the town as quickly as they could, determined to put it behind them.

Sadly, Dean couldn’t. There was just something about the case that nagged the hell out of him and no matter how he wanted to, he found he couldn’t let it go. Which was why he now found himself here, tucked away in the corner of a local dive bar just a few towns over from the one they’d just left. It was his kind of place with loud thumping rock music, shitty green beer, and too-drunk-to-care-about-the-stranger-in-their-midst locals. 

Normally he’d be right there in the middle of them pounding back drinks as he slurred along to AC/DC’s ‘Have a drink with me’ but tonight his heart just wasn’t in it. _Shoulda stayed at the motel with Sammy…_ He thought morosely as he tossed back drink number four (or was it five?) of the piss-thin watery green swill that passed as beer in this place. He frowned down at the remains of the drink as he debated on whether or not to get another one. Drinking alone was never fun but it was even less so when you continued feeling like shit. And Dean felt like shit; he hated when cases ended badly and the fact this one had happened in a school just left him unsettled. The worst part was, Dean couldn’t even pinpoint _why._ Dean had done his best to explain the way he felt to Sam earlier but when all he’d gotten was an eyeroll in return he’d decided he’d had enough. If Sam wanted to be that way then he could hang out in the motel room for the night and watch something stupid on the Pay-per-view or whatever it was he did when Dean wasn’t around. Dean figured he’d sneak back in sometime during the early morning and things would be back to normal by the time they both woke up again.

Dean sighed as he reached for the last dregs of his drink, only to frown when he noticed the fine tremors in his hand. Just like that his mood nosedived even further because seriously? He hadn’t had an attack in a long time and the fact that he was awake and aware rather than waking from a Hell nightmare served to piss him off further. It’d been a long time since he’d thought about that small bottle of nondescript white pills tucked in the bottom of his duffle but right now it was back on his brain. He didn’t take them as often as he used to as the Hell nightmares started settling on his mental backburner but Dean had a feeling tonight was going to be a night for them. It always seemed like he dreamed of Hell when things were going shitty, like his brain somehow decided things were a competition. It never was, mostly because Hell had, and always would, win. It was something Dean would never admit, even under the pain of torture, but sometimes it was nice to pop one of those pills down and let his brain melt into oblivion for a while. _Ah well!_ He thought, resigned, as he lifted the glass in a silence salute before downing the rest of the contents. As if retribution for his wayward thoughts the swing went down hard sending him into a coughing fit.

“You okay there, handsome?” A soft, velveteen voice questioned when Dean finally came up for air from all of his spluttering. He blinked hard, surprised to see a woman with dark wavy hair leaning up against the edge of his table. He hadn’t heard her come up which just went to prove he was seriously off his game today. Just to prove it further he ignored her as he panted and tried to clear his throat, feeling like he’d swallowed a bone rather than barely a mouthful of liquid. 

Surprisingly, however, the woman didn’t leave. Instead she leaned in, giving him ample look at her cleavage pushing up through her too-tight white shirt as she eyed him over. “You don’t look so hot there.” She pointed out, like Dean didn’t know he probably looked like a train wreck at the moment.

If nothing else it prompted him to reply, and he opened his mouth to do so, only to be surprised at how hot it was all off a sudden. Had someone turned up the heat? He wondered as he tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Is it just me or is it hot in here?” He asked, words slurred, as he reached up to swipe at the gathering sweat upon his brow. That’s strange… He thought fuzzily; he didn’t feel hot a little bit ago. In fact the place had seemed to be the perfect temperature despite how many people were crowded into the bar tonight. Yet now it was boiling hot and seemed to be getting hotter. Dean could feel sweat beading up over his brow, across his face, and underneath his arms. What was going on here?

“I think the only thing around here that’s hot, handsome, is you.” The woman said, and if the situation was a little less odd it’d sound like she was flirting with him. In another situation Dean probably would have reciprocated, all things considered. The woman was far from bad looking; she had a heart-shaped face with pale skin though her eyes took Dean’s attention from the rest of her. They were the strangest shade he’d ever seen, almost like an amber color that seemed to shift in the low light of the bar. It was rude to stare, Dean knew, and yet he couldn’t help himself. There was something strange about them that drew his eye and made it so he didn’t want to look away. There was power there, though the ‘what’ remained to be seen. “You’re pretty hot yourself.” He muttered, trying to find his equilibrium.

The woman tossed her head back, delighted. “Well aren’t you a charmer!" She cooed, shifting closer in a way that made Dean's brain go on high alert. He couldn't think deep enough to what was triggering him but it had him reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband nevertheless.

Either on to his game, or completely oblivious, she tossed her head back and laughed like he’d just told a hilarious joke. “Oh, you’re a funny one, aren’t you?” She chuckled, amber colored eyes twinkling as she looked at him. “I’ve never been called an angel before, but you’re close! I’m Ashleigh.”

An angel? Had he said that out loud? Dean wondered. He didn’t think he had but he had to have for her to answer him, right? He was feeling more confused than before Dean didn’t think so but with the way he was feeling it wouldn't have been surprising. Unless the woman was reading his mind; it wouldn't have been the first time. Either way mortification burned a bright blaze up his neck as he stilled, the hunt for a weapon successfully diverted. _Jesus_ , he must have had more to drink than he thought if his mouth was getting away from him like that! "Wha--what brings you my way?" He coughed, trying to cover up his embarrassment.

"How could I resist, seeing such a handsome man sitting all alone?" The woman grinned, drawing Dean's eyes to her dark green lipstick lined lips. It seemed a strange choice, despite the holiday, and Dean didn't miss the way his staring made them quirk up into a devilish tilt.

"Good thing I'm not alone anymore then, right?" He mumbled out a reply, suddenly more occupied with the way the world had gone fuzzy around the edges. He could still see the woman perfectly, and an increasingly sluggish part of his brain noted the way she was eyeing him over like he was a prime cut of beef she was about to devour, yet most of his attention had been captured by the lights. The tacky rope lights strung up along the wall behind them had started to spin without Dean’s notice and he couldn’t help but stare in ever-increasing confusion. “What the—“ is all he managed to get out before the world swayed and tipped dangerously and it took far, far longer than it should to realize that the world isn’t actually moving—Dean is.

He didn't register falling out of his seat or hitting the floor, but he must have because the woman pushed off the table and leaned over him. Her vibrant eyes stared deeply into his, seemingly boring a hole straight through him with their intensity.

“Poor thing!” She cooed, the sound grating against his ears as her green tinted lips split into a wide smile. “Can’t hold his drink…” Loud ringing started up in Dean’s ears, and distantly he attributed it to the speakers that were still belting out rock music over by the bar, but it did the trick in swallowing whatever it was that the woman was still saying.

The last thing Dean was aware of was the way she leaned in closer as darkness rose around him and swallowed him whole...


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean is_ _never_ _going to let me hear the end of this,_ Sam thought morosely as he trudged his way down the sidewalk leading to their motel. Staying out all night was far more his brother’s thing than his own but on the rare occasion that it happened Dean never failed to give Sam shit for it. The thing was, it hadn’t been a bad night out—Sam had a pleasant time chatting with the local waitress stuck on the nightshift at the nearby diner he and Dean had stopped at earlier—but under the scrutiny of Dean’s merciless teasing Sam knew he’d come to regret it.

It was stupid and childish, and one would think after these many years of traveling together Sam would be used to his brother’s obnoxiousness but somehow it never failed to get under his skin every damned time. It didn’t matter that Dean had a girl in every state in the lower 48, every time Sam so much as looked at a woman twice Dean was giving him shit and it never failed to piss Sam off.

_Maybe he’ll still be asleep_ , Sam thought hopefully, though he highly doubted it. Dean still woke up early when they were on the road and he knew from experience that even a night of booze at the bar wasn’t much a deterrent in changing that. 

High above him the sky was just starting to lighten, brilliant streaks of orange and pink zigging across the sky in great stripes before the coming sunrise. Paired with the fresh, still-slightly cool morning it should have made for a relaxing atmosphere, yet the effect was completely lost on Sam.

Whereas his brother had taken off for the closest bar practically the second they’d hit up the motel last night Sam had decided against it. A few hours of sitting alone in the hotel room, half-heartedly researching had finally ended with him at the diner a few blocks away. The place was just a little hole in the wall, no different than thousands of other small-town diners aside from changes in décor. The food was more than decent, however, and Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit it had been the driving force behind getting him there last night. The promise of a good meal, combined with the pleasant surprise that the older woman working the counter at night was much less annoying than the blonde woman who ran it during the day, had made for a pretty decent evening in Sam’s book. 

Yet, now all that pleasantness was fading away the closer Sam got to the motel. In fact, his head was so clogged with ideas of what Dean was going to say and do that Sam was halfway across the gravel lot before he realized that the impala was nowhere to be seen. _Huh._ He thought, freezing in place to blink owlishly at the empty space where the impala had been parked last night before Dean had left. Perhaps luck was on his side after all and Dean had found someone to spend the night with. It had been a while since that had happened but, hey, if it meant skipping the whole annoying big brother routine that would be facing him, Sam was all for it. With the prospect in mind, there was an extra spring in his step as he finished crossing the rest of the parking lot and reached their room.

_Although he could have just walked back here and left the impala behind_ , Sam’s traitorous mind informed him as he fumbled through swiping his key to get into the room. The thought froze him in place—one hand still on the motel room’s door handle—because the idea was just as plausible as Dean picking up a companion for the night. _Why me?_ He thought, eyeing the still-closed door like it was somehow going to explode if he let go of the handle. The idea of not being teased had taken root in his heart and to have the possibility ripped away before it could be fully known…

Sam was getting pissed off. _It’s just not fair,_ he thought, hand tightening its grip on the handle. He was so close to being home free that the sheer possibility of not being so just went through him like a bolt of lightning. Whatever peace and calm he’d built up had fled away replaced by years of pent-up righteous anger and before he’d even fully realized what he was doing, the motel’s room door swung open dramatically, rebounding off the wall behind it in its force, and Sam went striding through…

…only to stop dead in the middle of the room because despite what he’d built up in his head, the place was empty. Dean’s bed was still made, his duffle sitting open on the end just the way he’d left it the night before whereas Sam’s was still a tangle of sheets just as he’d left it. He stopped, blinked, and blinked again; gaze sweeping from the beds to the open doorway of the empty bathroom then back to the beds again like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing—or rather who he wasn’t seeing.

_Dean’s not here,_ he thought, hope tentatively blooming in his chest once more. Sam closed the door behind him before moving further into the room. Now that his rage was bleeding out of him like a sluggish wound he could tell his brother not only wasn’t in the room he hadn’t come back during the night either given the state of their things. Maybe, just maybe, Sam had managed to get away with staying out all night minus the lecturing after all. The idea tingled in his chest before bursting forth in a slightly hysterical laugh because really?

They were both strong men, fearless hunters, and here he was being a pussy because he didn’t want to be teased by his older brother. Sam shook his head at himself, and rolled his eyes, before huffing out another laugh as he crossed the room to his bed. Sometimes he still managed to amaze himself and this was one of those times. Not bothering to change beyond toeing off his boots, he flopped down, the laughter turning into a yawn as he let the long night finally catch up to him. No doubt Dean would have something to say about coming in and finding Sam sleeping in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night—if Dean was even coherent enough to do so at that point—but Sam was beyond caring. For now the sweet embrace of sleep was calling his name. He closed his eyes and was out within minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean came to with a gasp and a lurch—from zero to sixty, Fast & Furious style: one second there was nothing but blackness and the next pain was slicing through his head with all the force of a Mac truck. “Oh god,” Dean groaned, bringing up arms that felt like they were made of cement to clutch at his head. He didn’t know what had hit him but if he had to put words to the sensation he’d claim someone had stuffed AC/DC’s giant stage bell into his head from all the ringing and pounding that was echoing through his skull. Just how much had he drunk last night anyway?

However much it had been, it must have been a helluva lot. He groaned again, the weak sound doing nothing for his aching head, and tried to give opening his eyes a go. He only managed a slit before he was closing them again; the barest impressions of a dark room around him too much as vertigo crashed over him. _Never again_ , he vowed to himself. If this was going to be the end result of drinking all night, he was going to give the stuff up no matter how much it sucked ‘cause this was 1000 times worse. Sam would never let him live this down and thank Chuck, or whatever deity was listening, that his brother was still asleep because there was no way Dean could handle the teasing on top of how he was currently feeling.

For a while he just lay there, helplessly trapped in his own little miasma of pain. It was a waiting game of bated breath where any movement, no matter how small, set off a wave of agony slicing through his brain. Breathe in, breathe out—that was as much as he was capable of at one time and seriously: how much had he drunk last night?! He tried to figure it out as he laid there, but thanks to the wicked hangover he was suffering from, the answer just kept eluding him. A dingy bar, crappy green beer, and the echoing ring of AC/DC were the only impressions he got, but damn, whatever else had happened had to have been epic if he was feeling this shitty.

Despite figuring it was near impossible, he must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he was acutely aware of was climbing back to consciousness once more. It wasn’t quite the climb it’d been the first time around; for starters he actually managed to get his eyes open for what little good it did him.

The room around him was still dark, and even as he blinked his gritty eyes it was slowly becoming apparent to Dean that he was not in the motel room like he thought. It was colder, wherever this was, for one, and for another the flat surface he was laying on was a hell of a lot harder than the cheap mattress of the motel’s bed. “Sam?” He called out, voice nothing more than a harsh whisper of air.

While the resulting silence was hardly unexpected, it also confirmed the growing fear inside Dean’s belly: something was wrong here. He struggled to sit up as fast as he dared though he was barely upright when he realized his mistake. His stomach roiled dangerously at the change in altitude and Dean barely had time to regret it before he was leaning over and puking up a stomach full of beer.

It was disgusting and by the time he had finished retching Dean was done for. He wobbled where he was propped up on his arms, the muscles trembling beneath his weight. He felt like a wet rag that had been wrung out and left out to dry—tired and strung out yet he couldn’t give in. The bout of sickness didn’t erase the fact that he didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten here in the first place.

Unfortunately for Dean, he wasn’t going anywhere. Before he could do anything else towards getting mobile his muscles gave up the fight. The trembling had only increased ten-fold the longer he’d hovered there on the brink, so it was hardly a surprise when they finally gave up and sent him sprawling, but it still hurt like a bitch.

“Oof!” Dean gasped—the breath knocked out of him as he landed hard back against whatever the hard surface was that he’d been laying on before. Tears of pain, frustration, and more than a little exhaustion welled up, blurring his vision. _What the fuck is going on here?_ He wondered desperately, mind reeling along with his head. _Where am I? Where’s Sam?_ Sadly, no answers would be forthcoming any time soon. The room continued to blur out of focus, the darkness seeming to press in from all sides. He didn’t know what had hit him when it finally rose up and swallowed him whole once more.

The third time Dean woke was the easiest, if only because it happened naturally. There was no pounding rush of adrenaline or long dizzyingly climb to wakefulness; one moment he was asleep and the next he’s wide-awake. It’s as much a relief as the absence of nausea, something Dean is profoundly thankful for.

Still, he’s much more careful this time around about getting up. He takes it slow; propping himself on his elbows and taking a moment to just hang there before cautiously getting onto his knees. It goes better than expected—the urge to puke doesn’t manifest and Dean can’t help but let out a sigh of relief that a repeat performance won’t be necessary.

It isn’t until Dean’s finally standing that the situation he’s caught in finally comes crashing through the haze of euphoria surrounding him. Sweat drips down his naked body—and when the hell did that happen!?!—and all along his body aches and pains he didn’t notice overtop all the puking come rushing to the forefront. He’s still dizzy, at some point he probably took a blow to the head he thinks, but it’s overshadowed by the throb of pain that’s blooming down his right side like a line of fire running down his body. 

It’s nearly impossible to tell in the dim lighting of the room but whatever the hell happened _hurts_ and has made the muscles along that side seize up like they’ve been badly bruised. To add to his misery there’s a lingering cloying taste in his mouth and up his nose and he has to take a piss so bad it actually hurts. Add to that the headache he initially woke with was merrily pounding away behind his left eye.

_I’m so screwed,_ Dean thinks, caught somewhere along the edge of hysteria and despair because how in the hell does he even get himself into these situations? _Focus, Winchester!_ He berates himself, forcing his body to straighten as much as his aching muscles will allow and finally begins to take in the room at large.

Just as suspected, the room is empty which, considering how damn flighty Dean’s been feeling since he woke up here, is thankful. It’s also dark with no discernible shapes indicating furniture forcing Dean to stumble forward with arms outstretched as he blindly searches the place. It doesn’t take long; the room is more a cell roughly ten feet by ten feet with stone walls and a crudely cutout doorway bearing a tightly closed sealed door. It’s hardly a surprise considering Dean can’t even remember how he got here, wherever _he_ is, but the accommodations don’t bear good intentions to come.

Neither does the hard, flat pallet meant to serve as a bed that Dean had nearly stumbled over in his exploration. From the brief contact the thing had seemed about as soft as cement and just as appealing. Considering he’d grown up sleeping in shitty motel rooms of every form, he was looking less than thrilled at the possibility of trying to bed down on it.

The plain wooden bucket in the opposite corner is far, far worse in Dean’s opinion. Just like the pallet he’d damn near stubbed a toe stumbling into it but once he’d realized what it was he’d chucked it across the place in aggravation. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” He exclaimed to the dark, outraged by not only the realization that someone had deliberately put it in here for his use, but that he’d be stuck in here long enough to have to use it at all. _Whoever this bastard is they’re planning for me to stay a while._ He thinks, scowling as he raises a hand to rake through his hair. He doesn’t like this. At all.

Whoever this is, whatever they’ve got planned, they’re certainly off to a decent start. Before he can get too worked up on how he’s going to get out of this a sharp stabbing pain in his abdomen reminds Dean that he has little choice but to go through with whatever this is…for now. He closes his eyes against the pain, and blows out an explosive breath through his nose. _Son of a bitch!_ He thinks, resigned, as he opens his eyes and goes fumbling around in search of the bucket.


	4. Chapter 4

If there was just one thing in the world Sam Winchester could count on being as unchangeable in his life it would have to be his brother’s obnoxiousness in waking him up, hands down. It was something that had never faltered even after they moved into the Bunker properly and claimed their own rooms. No, if Dean wanted Sam up it was going to happen one way or the other—something he never failed to prove in the most creative of ways. So when Sam found himself blinking sleepily at the dinghy peeling paint of the motel’s ceiling after having woken up naturally without any interference from Dean at all? He knew then something was wrong.

The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as Sam sprung out of bed, all sleep haze forgotten in the wake of his brother’s unmade and clearly still-unused bed beside him. When a frenetic search of the bathroom, the parking lot, and even the small patch of woodland that edged the back of the property yielded no Dean, drunk or otherwise, Sam finally began to worry.

_He should have been back by now,_ Sam thought, frowning down at his brother’s open duffel like it held the answers to where Dean had gone off to. While it was hardly unusual for his brother to stay out all night after a conquest—particularly one he found extremely satisfying (and Sam was gonna need a bucket of brain bleach after this)—Dean usually came dragging in mid-morning with a smirk on his face and a story ten miles long. The fact that it was well past noon now and he hadn’t seen or heard from him? Yeah, Sam was definitely starting to worry.

It hadn’t helped that calling Dean’s assorted phones had yielded no results either. All of them had gone straight to voicemail—not to mention Sam had heard two of them ringing from his brother’s duffel not to mention the few he knew for certain were in the impala’s glove box. Still, he couldn’t help but growl out a: “Call me when you get this, Jerk!” on Dean’s voicemail before hanging up.

_Dammit Dean!_ Sam mentally groused, tossing his phone onto the tangled mess of sheets on his bed before bringing a hand up to rub down his face. It figured everything would go to hell before they could get out of here. This town, this case, had been a raging dumpster fire from practically the get-go and now this? _Great, just freakin’ great!_ Sam thought, irritably as he dropped his hand and scanned the room one last time as if Dean was just going to magically appear. When he, predictably, didn’t Sam sighed and moved towards his duffel. There was nothing else for it—it was time to call for backup.

~9~9~9~9~9~

“What do you mean Dean’s gone missing?” Castiel’s gravelly voice practically boomed out through the tinny speakers of Sam’s cell phone and never before had he been glad he’d had the forethought to hold the receiver away from his ear because Cas’ anger was coming through loud and clear without moving it any closer. “How could he have gone missing when he was with you? I thought the case was already shut!”

“The case was over!” Sam snapped, temper flaring as he finally reached the end of his rope. He regretted the outburst nearly instantly—potential smiting danger from an equally pissed-off angel aside—deep down he knew Cas was just as worried about Dean as he was. At this point they were equally stalled: the only thing they knew for sure was that Dean had headed out to the bar around 9pm the night before but after that there was nothing.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry.” Sam sighed, feeling like an ass as the anger drained out of him nearly as fast as it’d come. “I just don’t get what could have happened. Everything was wrapped up with the demons; we were supposed to head back out this morning after we’d both gotten some rest, that’d been the plan at least.” His hand came up to rub down his face as he scowled at the empty room around him. “The case had gone a little…south…so Dean headed to the local bar we passed on our way in to blow off some steam; you know how he gets after the bad ones.”

Internally, Sam winced because really? Boiling down the absolute clusterfuck the case had become by the end to things ‘going a little south’ was one helluva gross understatement. If Dean was here, he’d probably punch Sam for the comparison; certainly, Sam was feeling the need to punch himself for it! He didn’t know about Dean, not that his brother would willingly admit it, but Sam knew he’d be having nightmares about this one for some time to come.

“ _—am!_ Sam!!” The sound of Castiel’s voice progressively getting louder as he called his name over the phone finally made the hunter snap back to the present with a startled blink. Shaking his head to clear away the rest of the cobwebs, Sam pulled the phone back next to his ear from where he’d lowered it during his little mental vacation and forced himself to focus. “Yeah, I’m here Cas.” He reassured the angel despite feeling like he was going to spin off again at any moment. “How long do you think it’ll take you to get here? I’m going to pay up for another day and then hit the street to see if I can find the bar he went to. It’s probably a long shot but at least it’s somewhere to start.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Castiel promised, the sounds of rustling in the background indicating he was up and moving. “It shouldn’t take more than a few hours to reach there. In the meantime, let me know what you find. If we’re lucky perhaps someone remembers seeing Dean there last evening…and Sam?”

It was cliched but something deep within Sam’s chest un-clenched at hearing the reassurance that Castiel was going to be on his way. It would be good to have someone help ground him, at the very least since he still felt unhinged despite the fact Dean had only been missing a few hours at this point. “Yeah Cas?”

“We’re going to find Dean.” Castiel said calmly, like he was able to read Sam’s thoughts over a hundred miles and a phone line away. “Don’t give up hope yet; I am sure there is some explanation for all this and I will drive as fast as I can to get there.”

Well, damn. The thing that had un-clenched within Sam had practically turned into a melting iceberg at this point, flooding him with unexpected warmness from his friend’s words. He was embarrassed to find himself choking back the burn of tears, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a few seconds in shock. “Thanks Cas,” He managed to wrangle out eventually, the words so strangled he wasn’t entirely sure if they made sense.

They must have because there was a chuckle down the line before Cas’ voice came back, tone warmer than before: “I’ll see you soon Sam.” Except this time he was gone before he heard Sam’s reply.


	5. Chapter 5

“Son of a bitch!!” Dean growled out, clutching at his shoulder as he stumbled away from the still standing firm cell door. Trying to break it down by brute force alone wasn’t the best plan he’d ever come up with but really, could anyone blame him? He was trapped, naked and alone in the dark and everything else he’d tried thus far had failed. Whoever this bastard was that had taken him was good—Dean had to grudgingly admit, even if it was only in his head—the place was nigh impenetrable. While good for the bad guy it boded of bad things to come Dean’s way.

While Dean had no idea how long he’d been stuck in here like a rat caught in a maze, it’d been long enough to go over the cell with a metaphorical fine-inch comb. Every seam, every crack; Dean had been there, tried that. Unfortunately, the place was built like a tank which left Dean empty handed…and now with helluva sore shoulder.

Rubbing the sore limb, he fumbled his way blindly back to where he judged the pallet/bed to be at. He was sweating like a stuck pig by the time he reached it, panting in the thick air. That had been another joy of discovery—the lack of fresh air flow. While there had to be some coming in from somewhere the air felt cloying and heavy, and now thanks to damn biology, stank to the heavens with the rank scent of piss just adding onto the heavy weight of it.

“Dammit!” He seethed into the dark, glaring in the direction of the door despite not being able to see it. “What do you bastards want from me?!” Perhaps it was a little early to be giving in and yelling obscenities in the dark like some scared lunatic but screw it. Dean had never been a big fan of waiting (which was ironic considering a good chunk of hunting was just that) and the longer he spent here with his thumb up his ass the more pissed off about it he became. “Huh, assholes?? Why don’t you grow a pair and come in here and show yourselves!”

Maybe it was some kind of cue they’d been waiting for, or maybe it was just a hell of a coincidence, but the words were no sooner out of Dean’s mouth when light suddenly penetrated through the darkness from the direction of the door. After so long spent in the dark it was practically blinding in its intensity causing Dean to bring his good arm up to cover his eyes against the onslaught. _Freakin’ finally!_ He foolishly thought, the full realization of what was happening not sinking in for a few precious seconds while he was dazed by the light. By the time it finally registered that perhaps he should be doing something, finding something to use as a weapon (though considering his only literal option was the piss bucket that wasn’t saying much) the door was opening.

Now it went without saying that Dean had gone around the block a time or two and had seen more evil sons of bitches than he actually cared to remember but as he lowered his arm enough to squint against the glare nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the lone woman standing in the doorway. Like a flash the memories of Dean’s night at the bar came back to him: the crappy beer, the strange woman with the amber eyes, the dizziness and the darkness… it all hit him in rapid succession like pin-pricks of pain stabbing merrily away at his brain. “The hell?” he muttered, trying (and failing) to make sense of the dizzy rush of memories even as he tried to keep a wary eye on the woman in the doorway.

For her part the woman seemed wholly unperturbed to find him naked and gaping in a dark piss-scented cell; choosing to simply remain standing where she was in the doorway, watching him having his moment of epiphany. With the contrast of the light behind her and the darkness before her, it was difficult to make out her features, but Dean could tell she wasn’t the same woman who’d met him in the bar.

She was too short for one; her hair too frizzy and curly for another. The fact that she was wearing dark clothing and held one arm suspiciously behind her back boded ill things to come but the hours spent locked in the dark had Dean throwing caution to the wind. “Who the hell are you?” He barked, brain coming back online freakin’ _finally._ “What do you want with me?” It wasn’t the best interrogation tactic in the box, but hey, it’d been a helluva day so far.

His harshness didn’t faze the woman—in fact, it seemed to delight her. While Dean was still squinting in a failed effort to see her face the woman tossed her head back and belted out a laugh. It was high and faux-pitched, more grating than pleasant and fell in perfectly when she straightened and took a step into the cell to look Dean in the eyes. “I want you to suffer.” She said simply, words too calm, too filled with fading mirth to belie the danger under them.

“Suffer?” Dean echoes, his confusion evident in his voice because _what the actual fuck_? “Look lady, I don’t know who you are, and I frankly don’t care, but I’m pretty positive I haven’t done anything to you!” If nothing else in this fucked up situation, Dean was pretty sure about that. He didn’t forget a woman—unhinged or no—and this one didn’t ring any bells for him.

The woman just laughed at his confusion, the harshness of the sound grating against Dean’s ears. “Sweet thing,” she sickeningly cooed, eyes glinting as she eyed Dean up like he was a piece of meat. “Whoever said anything about doing something to me? You only wish you could.” And before Dean could get a word out edgewise, she was leaning in closer giving him a perfect view as an oily black slick covered her eyes. “Believe me, you’ll wish you had done something to me before I’m through with you!”

_Oh, you gotta be freakin’ kidding me!!_ It takes everything in Dean not to roll his eyes like a dramatic baby because: _seriously?!_ “Let me guess, you’re here because I wasted that dick on the playground, right?” Dean calls it out, equally surprised and not surprised by turns because of course he’d get captured by demons after ganking a bunch of them. _Way to go, Winchester!_ That voice inside him proclaims with far more glee than it should given he’s still trapped and powerless here. _Now what are you going to do?_

Before Dean can think of his next move here the woman, or demon rather, has already jumped five paces ahead of him by bringing forward her hidden hand…and the gun that it was concealing within it. “Now, now.” It tuts in the woman’s still-too-high shrill voice. “I can see that look in your eyes and there won’t be any escape planning from you!” It cocks the gun, bringing it up to aim at Dean dead on. “As I said before, _I_ make the rules here, so I suggest you shut up and listen for once in your puny life!”

_Shit!_ Dean’s mouth slams shut on whatever smartass retort had been building, his eyes trained on the gun in grim silence. Getting shot totally wasn’t part of his nonexistent plan which meant he needed to come up with a plan that didn’t include getting shot—and fast! It takes roughly all of thirty seconds for it to sink in just how utterly screwed Dean really is. Considering there’s nowhere in this small cell to hide or even to conceal himself behind, Dean’s options are slim to none which means he’s totally fucked.

Well if you can’t beat them by sheer force…time to improvise! Throwing all caution—and sanity—to the wind Dean looks up and fixes the demon with his most annoying smirk tugging at his lips as he throws his arms wide open. “Hit me with your best shot!” He taunts, inwardly hoping the demon doesn’t because the last thing he needs is a bullet hole to deal with on top of the rest of this shit. “We both know you aren’t going to shoot me. If you really were, you’d already have done it so I’ll ask again: who the hell are you and what do you want?!”

“My, my, kitty has a pair, doesn’t he?” The demon taunts, flourishing the gun like it isn’t a loaded weapon ready to be fired. “I thought you were smarter than that, the supposed great Dean Winchester, although I suppose the hype was wrong.” It leaned in closer, making the woman’s lips turn down in a pout. “What do I want? Oh, it’s very simple—I want you to suffer! You took someone away from me and now I shall have my vengeance!”

Before Dean could even open his mouth to retort the world kicked into high gear—the way the light outside the cell glinted off the barrel, the crazed laughter that came spilling from the demon’s borrowed lips, the deafening echo as the gun discharged in the small space of the cell…all of it roared up and swallowed Dean down, pulling him unwillingly into the inky dredges of unconsciousness. The last thing he was aware of was the demon standing over him, it’s black eyes glinting maliciously in the dim light.


	6. Chapter 6

“—and they’re sure the impala has been there the entire time?” Castiel asked, phone propped awkwardly between his shoulder and ear as he kept a wary eye on the road, looking for a place to pull over. Normally he wouldn’t worry about such a frivolous thing like talking on the phone while driving but his conversation with Sam was prudent enough to defy such conventions.

It had been Sam, ages ago it now seemed, to first lecture Castiel on the inherent dangers of speaking on the phone while operating a vehicle. It had been a beautifully sunny day, not unlike the one he was currently facing down as his truck ate up the miles, and before he could stop it the edges of his lips had turned upwards into a small smile. Dean had been with them then, driving them all in pursuit of a hunt no doubt, and had scoffed loudly all the way through Sam’s patient lecture. _You don’t need to worry about that, man!_ He’d chided in that smirky way of his and Castiel found himself shaking his head just like he had in the memory. While Dean had muttered and made jokes about Castiel not needing to worry since he was an angel the lesson had stuck with him nonetheless.

Now the memory stuck with him along with the smile it brought as the angel searched the horizon in front of him for a suitable place to pull over. He did not have to look long—there, just a few miles down appeared to be a good spot perfectly situated alongside the highway. “Hold on a moment, Sam.” Cas spoke into the phone, still trying to stay careful about jostling it. “I am going to pull over, so I may listen to you better.”

Luck, it seemed, was far from being on Castiel’s side for he had no sooner put the phone down beside him on the seat and had driven the few short feet to the sidebar when dual flashing red and blue lights sprung to life in his rear-view mirror. A glance confirmed the cop car pulling over behind him to which Castiel rolled his eyes heavenwards in annoyance. He didn’t have time for this! Now that the impala had been discovered—abandoned in a bar parking lot—with Dean nowhere in sight, time was of the essence!

Alas, the cop car did not magically disappear despite Castiel’s fervent wishes otherwise. He huffed, annoyance clear in every line of him, and pitched his voice loud enough that Sam could hear him through the phone from where it remained on the seat. Sam’s previous phone and driving lessons had clearly alluded to this problem arising, to which Castiel found himself thankful. It was bad enough the law enforcement was behind him—he didn’t need to add on to whatever suspicions they already held. “I will call you back Sam…it appears there is a bit of a… complication.” Rather than wait to hear his friend’s reply he subtly reached down and clicked the phone off.

Behind him the cop exited his cruiser and headed toward Castiel’s truck. He was an older human, the angel noted, with graying hair and wrinkles. Despite his apparent age, however, the man stood straight and wasted no time in reaching the truck. “Where’s the fire there, son?” The officer called, a smile tugging at his lips as he eyed Castiel through the open truck window. “You’ve had your blinker on for the past two miles!”

“O-oh.” Castiel stammered, utterly flummoxed. “I apologize, I didn’t realize I had left it on.” He hadn’t either, and in his head he could fully picture Dean laughing at him for making such a simple error. The hunter had never missed a chance to make a joke regarding the angel driving (or his choice of vehicle) and there was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that Dean would be enjoying this. The thought was enough to make his lips twitch upwards in a smile, but it vanished as quickly as it’d come. Dean wasn’t here and that was the problem. Quickly schooling his features, the angel shot a glance back at the officer and attempted to look attentively despite the direction his thoughts had taken.

Fortunately for Castiel, it seemed the officer had missed his little mental vacation. The man looked up from the pad and pen he’d pulled out from somewhere and gave the angel a cursory look. “Can I see your ID and registration?”

Abruptly Castiel was overcome with a strange wave of emotion; if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he felt like crying. That was ridiculous, however, because angels did no such thing. He couldn’t shake the feeling though as he fumbled his way through pulling his wallet from his trench coat pocket; never had he been more grateful for Dean’s instance that he had what was deemed to be ‘the proper identification’ after he started driving in earnest. It was all fake, of course, but Dean had made sure it all matched, something Castiel hadn’t understood the meaning behind until this very moment. Finally finding what he needed, he pulled the papers out and handed them over to the officer.

“I’ll just be a moment.” The man said, glancing between Castiel and the license in his hands. “Don’t go anywhere!” And with that he headed back towards his cruiser before Castiel could get a word in edgewise.

Temporarily left to his own devices, Castiel sighed and slumped down in his seat, just taking a moment to breathe despite not needing to do so. Frustration welled inside him; he didn’t have time for this! Dean was out there somewhere, possibly injured and in need of assistance while Castiel was stuck here doing nothing. It was helpless and hopeless in ways the angel couldn’t define and all he could do was grit his teeth together at the sheer _frustration_ of it all.

Thankfully the officer was good as his word—just when Castiel was considering the merits and risks of storming the officer to get this over with faster, the man had reappeared at his window. “Everything looks good here, Mr. Novak!” He declared with a friendly smile as he handed the wallet back. “Make sure to lay off that blinker and you should be good to go!”

Castiel blinked; it was on the tip of his tongue to ask what a ‘blinker’ had anything to do with driving, but he refrained at the last moment. “I will endeavor to do so.” Castiel finally responded, still lost, but he wasn't worried because the officer had already turned and headed back to his cruiser.

Castiel watched the cop back out with a wary eye, not letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding until the cruiser was finally heading out of sight down the highway once more. All at once the angel deflated like a puppet with cut strings, a sigh huffing out of him as his head thumped back against the seat. “That was…uncomfortable.” He remarked to no one, far too aware that things could have gone way worse than they had.

Right on cue, like it’d somehow been able to hear him, the phone began to ring from where Castiel had abandoned it on the seat earlier. He rolled his eyes as he picked it up, only taking time to register Sam’s name on the display before he was answering.

“What happened?” Sam sounded worried; the emotion seemingly loud despite the phone’s tiny speakers. “What’s the complication? Did you find a lead?” The hunter sounded frazzled, just shy of frantic, not that Castiel could blame him. Every minute was a minute less spent towards finding Dean and considering all they had was his car abandoned in a parking lot Castiel was beginning to feel frantic himself.

Logically, Castiel knew that Dean was more than capable of handling himself, yet it was hard to stick to that logic in the face of the younger Winchester’s worry. The fact that they were heading into hour twelve without any word from Dean wasn’t helping matters either. Whatever it was that Dean had gotten himself into couldn’t be good, Castiel thought, but he wisely refrained from sharing such with Sam. The younger hunter was already winding himself into enough knots without Castiel’s influence making things worse.

Speaking of which…. “Cas?” Sam’s concerned voice floated out of the phone speaker that the angel had forgotten he was still holding, the barest edge of hysteria in his voice. “What happened? Did you find Dean? Is he okay?”

The angel sighed deeply, briefly closing his eyes. “I had a ‘run in’ with a cop.” He stated calmly, barely resisting the ingrained urge to do finger quotes despite the fact there was no one there to see him do so. Sending the oncoming meltdown, Castiel cut in before Sam could: “Everything is fine. The officer has already left, and I am getting ready to do the same.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and for a moment Castiel thought that Sam had perhaps hung up on him. Before he could worry about it, however, there was a small huff of laughter from the other end before Sam spoke again. “Yeah, okay.” The hunter said, a hint of sobered amusement in his tone, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

The line went dead before Castiel could reply, leaving the angel to simply stare at the phone with a confused frown before he finally put it down on the seat beside him. He didn’t quite get what Sam was so amused by, but he was willing to overlook it for now.

There were bigger problems at hand, namely Dean, and so Castiel wasted no more time on getting back on the road. The sooner he reached Sam, the better.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking up in nearly blinding pain was becoming an unfortunate habit of Dean's that he sincerely wished he could break. The jaunt to consciousness was short this time around, yet it brought along an unwelcome heaping of nausea for the ride. He swallowed hard, hoping to God he wasn't about to throw up. _Ugh. What the hell happened?_ He wondered, surprised, but not overly, to realize he didn’t immediately remember. _Must’a been one hell of a party_! He thought woozily as he struggled to pry his eyes open. The last thing he could clearly recall was being at the bar—that kind of nasty watered-down beer wasn’t soon to be forgotten—but after that there was nothing.

It took a couple of minutes, but he finally managed to get his eyes open only to be greeted by…nothing. “The hell?” He croaked, the sound echoing in the silence of the room as he blinked at the blackness surrounding him. This wasn’t the hotel room, he thought as he turned his head from side to side, for even with the curtains drawn tightly there still would have been light leaking in from somewhere. Here, wherever ‘here’ was, there was nothing. The blackness was as dark as it was deep and no amount of rapid blinking from Dean made any change in it.

_Guess we aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto!_ Came the absurd thought as he went to push himself into a sitting position…only to fall back at the intense wave of pain that sliced through his right shoulder at the motion. “Son of a bitch!” He yelped into the darkness, his left hand automatically coming up to clutch at his right arm. As he gently prodded at his shoulder, it all came crashing back in the strange woman at the bar, the nasty green beer, waking up here earlier, the second strange woman who’d apparently freakin’ shot him…

“Fuck me!” Dean groaned; eyes wrenching shut with a hiss as his fingers carefully pressed around the edge of the wound. The best he could tell it was a through and through, having passed right through the upper meat of his arm. It was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a trail of partially dried blood winding down his arm. What the hell was he supposed to do now? As far as wounds went, though he was highly aware that it could have been much worse. If he was careful, he’d still be able to use the arm, something which he’d need if he could figure out a way to escape this place.

“You sons of bitches!” He swore into the darkness. The shout echoed back to him, and Dean couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of satisfaction from it. Screaming into the dark had never helped anyone with anything but in lieu of someone to physically fight against, he’d take it. Now the question was, what did he do now?

First thing? He needed to get up. Steeling himself for the epic levels of suckitude that was going to come with it, Dean gritted his teeth and propped himself up on his good elbow. From there it took more than several minutes and a wide range of slurred creative curses, but finally, he managed to wobble up to his feet.

“Holy _shit!_ ” He groaned out loud, nearly buckling under the weight of the pain and the sudden dizziness that came from standing after blood loss. “Not the smartest move there Winchester…” He moaned, flashing hot then cold in quick succession. The next thing he knew he was down on his knees again, the pain from his knees thumping against the cold floor barely registering under the roaring agony that was his shoulder as he jostled the limb about. A cold sweat had broken out over his body, causing him to shiver, and fuck, how the hell was he supposed to get out of here if he couldn’t even stand up?

Just fuck. Fuckiety, fuck, _fuck_! And wow, he sure did tend to let his brain run wild when he was in pain and trapped like a rat… Dean groaned again, frustration warring with the pain and the need to get the fuck out of here as soon as he could.

Before he could rally up the necessary strength to try standing again there was an ominous creaking from somewhere to Dean’s left. His head shot up, his eyes squinting uselessly into the dark only to be blinded a moment later as a door opened, spilling bright light into the room.

Was the woman coming back to gloat or was this some new fresh hell? Dean shifted restlessly on his knees, suddenly aware that he was not only injured and weaponless, but naked as well. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in such a position though it was hardly ideal.

“Awh, looks like the pet is awake!” A familiar velvet smooth voice cut through the air, nearly bowling Dean over with its fake cheerfulness. 

Blinking furiously through suddenly watering eyes, Dean looked up to find the woman from the bar standing there in the doorway. “You!” He exclaimed, caught somewhere between shock and furious. “The hell do you want?” It was a stupid move considering the state he was already in, but well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“My, my!” The woman cooed, completely unperturbed by Dean’s tone and glowering as she stepped into the room. “I see the kitty still has claws.” She crouched down—a safe enough distance from Dean—and smiled at him. “Not to worry. I’m sure we’ll take care of that little problem very soon!”

What the hell? Maybe it was the blood loss, or hell, maybe it was some belated aftereffects of whatever the hell the woman had put in his beer back at the bar, but Dean didn’t have a damn clue what she was going on about. He blinked, the confusion evident on his face, but before he could get any words out edgewise, she was already speaking.

“I know it doesn’t make much sense right now, does it?” And for the life of him, Dean wanted nothing more to throttle her. The very tone—if not her words—made it seem like she was talking to a stray pet rather than a fearsome hunter and that, more than anything, stung.

Dean Winchester was nobody’s pet and anyone who thought otherwise had another thing coming to them! He opened his mouth, fully ready to argue his point home when he suddenly found himself hit out of nowhere with a face full of fabric. He reared backwards in surprise, pinwheeling painfully with his good arm as he struggled to stay upright. It was a losing battle—he went down hard, the impact momentarily knocking the breath out of him as agony seared up and down his body.

The world grayed out at the edges and time blurred down to the harsh sounds of Dean panting for breath and the white-hot flare of pain that surged through him. How long it lasted he couldn’t say but suffice to say by the time he felt like he could breath without gasping Dean was thoroughly exhausted.

It was quite some time before he felt up to the task of moving, and even longer from there to feel like he could. At some point—he didn’t know when—the woman had departed without further commentary leaving him alone in the dark once more. In a way it was a good thing because the less witnesses to his humiliating state, the better, but with her also went his chances of escape which meant Dean was right back to square one.

“Friggin’ fantastic!” He remarked to the darkness and went to painfully push himself back into a sitting position again...only to freeze when his hand brushed against something soft. “What the hell?” He muttered, carefully poking the soft whatever-it-was. When nothing happened, and Dean released a tension-filled breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he went ahead and grabbed it.

The soft thing turned out to be _several_ soft things—strips of cotton and flannel to be exact— “You gotta be kidding me!” Dean exploded, not the least bit thrilled to realize he was holding pieces of his shirts. What the hell kinda game was the woman playing? He shook his head, confused, and balled the scraps of fabric in his fist. He raised his arm, ready to chuck the fabric in the direction of where he judged the door to be when he paused.

His right arm was still a pulsing mass of pain that throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and though it was hardly ideal, the idea of using the fabric as a makeshift sling was starting to form in his mind. It wasn’t a great solution but given the circumstances it was all he had. “Freakin’ awesome,” He sighed; resigned.


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearing dusk by the time Castiel finally pulled up to the hotel the Winchester’s had been staying at. From up close the fading, crumbling exterior of the place stood out like a warning beacon causing the angel to frown. Castiel had long given up judging the dubious places the brothers stayed but there was something about this one. It was something Castiel couldn’t quite put his finger on but it tingled unpleasantly against his grace nonetheless. How the Winchesters missed such a thing, he didn’t know. As strong as the feeling was they should have felt something was wrong but it was too late to worry about it now.

Castiel had barely gotten the truck parked when Sam appeared at the driver’s side door. Up close the younger Winchester looked as exhausted as he sounded on the phone, something Castiel couldn’t help frowning at. Sam had told him the case had been a hard one, and that, coupled with Dean’s disappearance, hadn’t done Sam any favors. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly, which he probably had. The angel did his best to hide his reaction, they had enough to worry about, and opened the door.

“Cas.” Sam breathed out, relieved. He was beyond relieved to see the angel there and to know he was no longer in this alone. It was a sentiment Dean would have teased Sam mercilessly for, had he been there, but Sam hardly cared. Dean could tease him all he wanted when they got him back. 

“Sam.” Castiel replied, equally as glad to see his friend. “I apologize it took me so long to get here. Have you spoken with the bartender yet?”

Just like that, the moment was over as Sam snapped back into working mode. “It’s okay,” He dismissed, waving a hand. “No. The owner said he wouldn’t be in until this evening.”

The angel glanced at the sky, noting the time, before turning his attention back to Sam. “He should be there by now. I’ll come with you.”

They fell into step but before they’d gotten far across the parking lot Castiel stopped and looked up as if something had just occurred to him. “Where is the impala?” He asked, frowning as he scanned the parking lot surrounding them. It was nowhere to be seen.

Beside him Sam huffed, a flicker of amusement crossing his face for a second before it was gone again. “I wondered when you’d ask.” He said, “It’s still at the bar. It’s locked and the bar owner wouldn’t let me in to see if the keys were laying around. She said it was possible the bartender found them and laid them aside.”

The angel’s forehead wrinkled with obvious displeasure but he didn’t say anything in reply. Instead he nodded and headed off once again in the direction they’d been going. That the impala had been essentially abandoned didn’t sit well with him; the sooner he could see the car for himself the better.

Thankfully it was a short walk to get to the bar and there the impala was, tucked into a corner of the lot away from the other vehicles. Castiel beelined towards the car but Sam hung back, eyeing the rest of the lot with suspicion. This time of night the place wasn’t properly crowded yet but there were several empty vehicles in the lot. _Hopefully one of these is the bartender._ Sam thought with a grim frown as he hastened to catch up to Castiel.

By the time Sam reached the impala the angel was already in process of circling the car like a vulture circling its prey. His eyes faintly glowed with the white-blue glow of grace and his face was set into a frown. Sam hung back a few steps, unsure of what to do. The silence coming from Castiel was unnerving to say the least--he hated the thought that anyone had messed with the impala as well as Dean. His brother, when they found him, would absolutely have a fit and a half if something had happened to the car in his absence. 

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only a handful of minutes, Castiel stepped back, his forehead lined with wrinkles. “There’s nothing here.” He declared, frustration clear in his voice. “The car has not been tampered with. It seems whoever was after Dean was after him alone. Perhaps they felt the car would stand out.”

Sam scowled, caught between being grateful that the impala was fine and filled with impotent rage for what little good it’d do. While he had hated the idea he disliked the fact that whoever had taken Dean had left the impala behind when it meant so much to Dean. “Probably,” He finally relented, deflating. “Hopefully the bartender has the keys.”

Decided, the pair turned in the direction of the bar itself. From the outside the small square building wasn’t much to look at with peeling gray paint flaking off the brick exterior. A faded wooden sign above the equally faded door declared the place to be ‘Frank’s Bar’. All in all it looked like the local dive bar Sam had seen a million times before which meant it was exactly Dean’s kind of place. As they pushed through the door the familiar opening notes of Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” greeted them. Sam snorted, amused despite himself. Oh yeah, this bar was _exactly_ the kind of place Dean would feel right at home in.

The interior was surprisingly well lit, and as suspected from the lack of cars in the parking lot, wasn’t crowded at all. With a shared glance, Sam and Castiel wound their way through the scattered bar tables to the bar itself. The music grew in intensity, the source the large speakers lining the back of the bar but Sam’s focus was on the man standing behind the wooden bar with a glass in one hand and a dishrag in the other. Even at a distance he was a big bear of a man with a long beard and salt-and-pepper hair. He eyed the pair with steel colored eyes as they approached the bar, only deigning to speak when they were right in front of it: “What can I get ya?”

“We’re looking for a man,” Sam said, straightening up to his full height. “Would have been in here late last night; sandy hair, medium build, green eyes. Were you the one tending to the bar last night?”

The bartender looked between Sam and Castiel, eyes narrowed in contemplation. After a long moment he seemed to have found whatever it was he was looking for in them for he nodded. “Yeah I was here. Saw your boy too-- he was throwing them back over there in the corner. Didn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd.”

It took monumental effort not to outwardly react but all Sam could feel in the moment was relief. “Do you remember anything else?” He couldn’t help asking even as he glanced over at Castiel. The angel looked as relieved as he felt. The guy had seen Dean! It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

At Sam’s eager tone the guy shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you two Feds or something?” He asked, eyeing the two of them, “Is this fellow in trouble? There’s been rumors of Feds lurking around next town over and I ain’t keen on helping out a couple of spooks trying to nab a guy.”

Sam startled, clearly surprised. It seemed their reputation had preceded them and given how the case had gone down it was far from being a good thing. He didn’t need to glance at Cas to see what he was thinking; it was impossible to miss the heavy weight of the angel’s gaze drilling into the side of his head. After a moment of deliberation Sam mentally threw up his hands in defeat. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like he’d never been thrown out of a bar before though usually those times had involved Dean and quite a bit of alcohol…

Squaring his shoulders, Sam pasted on his best fake Fed charming smile and aimed it at the guy. “Listen, Frank, is it?” At the bartender’s wary nod, Sam continued. “We are Feds but it’s not what you think. I don’t know what went on in the other town but I can assure you we weren’t involved. My partner and I, the man you saw last night, were passing through town on our way to the regional office when he decided he wanted to stop for a drink. Since it was late I booked a hotel room and he came here. When he didn’t return I called Detective Swift, who was also traveling to the office, to tag along.”

Sam had to give Frank the bartender a hand--the man had one hell of a poker face. He listened to Sam’s story somberly, face impassive as he considered the tale. He looked the pair over, slowly taking in Sam’s well worn plaid and jeans Castiel’s rumpled suit and trench coat. Neither of them looked like Feds and Sam quietly held his breath, wishing, not for the first time that he’d thought to don his Fed suit before they set out.

Just when Sam was working up to give himself an ulcer, or at the very least consider alternate ideas, Frank relaxed and even cracked a grin at the pair. “For a big guy you sure do squirm a lot.” He said as if he were talking about the weather and hadn’t just taken a few years off Sam’s life. “I gotta say I’ve never met a Fed that could pound them back like your partner there. He have a habit of swinging by the bars on his way to the office?” 

For his part Sam didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or punch the guy in the face. He settled somewhere around flabbergasted as he choked out a strained, nearly breathless laugh. “Um, yeah. He does on occasion.” He managed to get out, side-eyeing Cas with an incredulous look because how was this his life?

Castiel, on the other hand, remained as cool as a cucumber as he’d been since they walked into the place. At Frank’s smile he finally cracked a little, leaning forward to take the limelight off Sam and place it firmly on him. “Since you’ve established he was here what can you tell us of his time in your . . . fine establishment?” 

Frank blinked at the angel, nonplussed. From the man’s tone it seemed he wasn’t playing around and the smile fell from his face as fast as it’d appeared. “Well,” He started, “Your guy came in a few hours before closing time and set himself up a tab. From what I could tell he kept to himself unlike the rest of the drunken idiots crowding up the joint. Seemed more content to just hang around in the booth over there and watch the crowd.”

“What booth?” Castiel asked at the same time Sam piped up and said: “Did you see him leave?”

“You sure you two are Feds?” Frank asked, glancing from Castiel to Sam then back again. “Ya’ll seem more like a married couple.” He chuckled, though the look on their faces showed it fell flat. “Alright, alright. He was over in that booth over there.” The man pointed towards the far end of the bar, practically tucked into the corner. It was an out of the way place that would have been perfect for Dean to be able to see the room at large. “And if I’m recalling correctly he left with a woman. Little thing, dark hair. She wasn’t a regular; from the way your boy was talking to her I figured they’d come in together and I just missed her at first.”

Both Sam and Castiel frowned. While it was hardly uncommon for Dean to pick up someone at the bar he usually called before he headed out with someone. Barring that, something just didn’t seem quite right about the whole situation. Without waiting for deliberations, Castiel turned and headed towards the booth leaving Sam alone with Frank. The younger Winchester watched him go, frown still firmly in place, before turning back to the bartender with a sigh. “Did they seem like they knew each other? Or did it seem like she was leading him on? My partner and I don’t know anyone around this area so any information you could give me would greatly help.”

Frank spared a glance over at the way Castiel was inspecting the booth, but wisely chose not to comment on it. He looked pensive for a moment, before ultimately shrugging. “I don’t know what you want to hear, kid. Your partner and his lady friend sat there for a while having a drink before they finally left together. There isn’t anything else to it.” 

Sam’s frown only deepened. He didn’t like anything about this, not one bit. Despite the bartender’s insistence it was too much of a coincidence for Dean to run into someone he knew like this. That, coupled with the impala being left behind, something that never would've happened even if Dean had picked someone up, spelled trouble. Something more had gone on here and Sam was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Thank you for all your help.” Sam said, more on autopilot than actual gratefulness considering. “Is there any chance you found a set of keys laying around after you closed up last night? Or maybe this morning?”

The man lit up like a light bulb above his head had been turned on. “I’d nearly forgotten about them! I did happen to find a set of keys’ they’d been kicked underneath one of the tables. Just hold on a second.” He turned away and began rummaging underneath the counter top.

Castiel sidled up to Sam as they waited. Sam glanced over at the angel, hopeful, only to scowl in disappointment when Castiel shook his head in the negative. Sam felt his stomach sink at the implication that nothing supernatural had been found lurking around the booth but before he could question Castiel further Frank interjected with a satisfied “Ah-ha!” as he emerged from under the counter with his prize. There in his hands were the keys for a Chevy impala, complete with the silver bullet hanging off the key ring. 

“Damn.” Sam muttered under his breath, too low for Frank to hear. Part of him had hoped they wouldn’t find the keys but another, bigger part, knew it was inevitable. Out loud he said: “Those are the keys we’re looking for.” as he plastered on a fake smile and reached out to take them. 

The bartender handed them over without fanfare and gave them both a frown. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more.” He said, sounding apologetic. “I hope you find your partner; if I happen to see him or his little friend I’ll let them know you’re looking for him.”

It was as much of a dismissal as it was an apology and Sam thanked the man before turning and heading towards the door. Despite Frank’s words he doubted either Dean or the mysterious woman he’d been seen with would return to the bar. No, something far more sinister was up and Sam was determined to find out what it was. 

He didn’t stop until he was outside the bar and standing beside the impala once more. He looked up then, surprised and grateful to find Castiel had followed behind him silently. Clutching the keys tightly in one hand he smiled grimly across the hood at Castiel. “We’ve got work to do.”


	9. Chapter 9

Days had passed, or at least Dean had thought they had. It was next to impossible to tell since he was trapped in the dark. At any rate it certainly _felt_ like days had passed with the way his stomach cramped from hunger pains. It seemed to throb in time with the pounding in his head and the unrelenting ache of his shoulder. It was ridiculous, Dean was well used to hurting but shove him in a hole in the dark for a few days and he was miserable as fuck. He’d made no more attempts at trying to escape, not that he would have been successful anyway, and much to his relief the woman hadn’t returned to see him either.

That, he mused as he stared unseeing up in the dark, was a double edged sword. While he was glad there were no witnesses to see him lying here like a pathetic mess, the need to interact with someone, anyone, just grew. “You’re really fucked in the head, Winchester.” He muttered to himself, shocked at how weak and croaky his voice had become. “Pathetic.” He uttered next, but his heart wasn’t really in it. What was the point? Berating himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere beyond sending him sliding down the slippery slope to talking to himself. He may have been a shaky, ridiculous, hot mess at the moment but Dean Winchester flat out refused to start talking to himself. What would Sam think? Or Cas? He could picture it now; his brother would have a field day knowing Dean had gone stark raving mad in here. Cas was harder to predict but Dean could picture the way the angel would no doubt tilt his head in confusion at Dean’s actions.

Slowly and carefully, Dean rolled over until he was laying flat on his back on the stone floor. It wasn’t at all comfortable but the coldness of the floor felt good against his sweaty skin and his injured shoulder. It should have been worrying, but Dean found he didn’t have the energy for it. These days he didn’t have the energy for anything let alone worrying about the unavoidable fever he no doubt had. Sam would lecture him, no doubt about it, Dean thought idly. The big lug had a propensity to be as big of a mother hen as Dean had though he didn’t get much opportunity to divulge in it. 

When was the last time he’d well and truly gotten sick? Dean mused, eyes rolling like there was anything to see except black in every direction. It’d been long enough he didn’t have a clue though that just meant he was well overdue. It was just a shame that Sam wasn’t here to witness this. “Where are you Sammy?” Dean whispered up to the black, but unfortunately there wasn’t an answer. If the darkness knew where Sam was hiding it was doing an excellent job at keeping the information to itself. Huffing out a frustrated breath, Dean let his eyes flutter closed. He couldn’t be sure but he thought things hurt less when his eyes were closed. “Prolly just wishful thinkin’...” He mumbled to the empty room as the blackness climbed and swallowed him whole.

*****

Dean didn’t know how long he was out--he never did these days--but he certainly knew when he came back to the waking world. This time it was with a lurching cough that lit fire from his shoulder to his chest as he scrambled upwards and tried to cough at the same time. It was just shy of agony and for a few heart-stopping seconds all he could do was gasp like a fish out of water under the onslaught of it all. 

When the pain finally lessened its grip on him Dean slumped back to the floor boneless. He was beyond exhausted and not even surprised to find the burning wetness of tears lining his cheeks. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken like this, the number like everything else was a blur, but it’d gotten no easier. The intensity of the pain may have lessened but it zapped what little strength Dean had along with it leaving him gasping, like now, on the floor until it eventually dulled. 

It seemed to take longer this time to recover, and not for the first time Dean wondered how long he’d been here. How many times had he repeated the same process over and over? How many more times would he have to endure it before he was eventually freed from here? Where was Sam? And Cas? Were they looking for him? Surely they hadn’t abandoned Dean to his fate…?

‘Round and around the questions swirled in Dean’s head with little respite. There were simply too many questions with no answers and they were slowly eating away at Dean’s mind, pushing him further to the brink. The main question was: how long until he finally went over the edge? Dean simply hummed to himself; it was close to an answer as he was going to get.

Some undefinable time later Dean’s mental spiral came to a merciful halt as light unexpectedly flooded into the cell. After spending so long in the dark the onslaught of light _hurt_ and he hissed in pain as he squeezed his eyes closed. There was a part of his brain that was screaming at him to get up, to fight, to do _something_ but Dean couldn’t make his body move. Just like the pain had zapped all his energy it’d gone and weighed him down at the same time. The most he could do was curl the fingers of his good hand into a fist for what little good it’d do. It was shameful to realize he was too weak to defend himself but Dean would be damned if he took it lying down. He forced his eyes to open, ignoring the way they stung and watered in the light, and turned the best he could to face his captor.

Just as he suspected it was the woman from before but thankfully this time she wasn’t brandishing a gun. In fact the only thing in her hands looked suspiciously like. . . a water bottle? Unconsciously Dean licked his lips with a tongue that felt like heavy sandpaper, looking between the water and the woman holding it. God, he’d practically do anything for a drink right about now…

“Thirsty?” The woman mocked, obviously having noticed Dean’s attention was more on the plastic bottle than herself. She shook the bottle, enjoying the way he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off it. “I bet you’d do anything for this.” She said, effectively reading Dean’s feverish mind. “Lucky for you I like my men tall and strapping, like your darling brother. He’s not here of course, such a shame isn’t it?” She cooed, still fiddling with the bottle of water. “I wonder what he’d think of seeing his big brother this way, hmm? Would he be worried and do the whole rescue the damsel in distress bit or would he laugh and walk away? Decisions, decisions! I know which option I’d choose if I was him; how about you Dean-O? What do you think Sammy would do if he was here to see his pathetic mess of a big brother?”

Huh? What? What was happening? Dean was so zero focused on the water in the woman’s hands he barely understood a word that had passed her lips. There had been something about being thirsty, and oh he was. He was so very thirsty… And then there was something about Sammy and then she asked a question Dean had no idea what it was. The best he could figure it either had something to do with the bottle of water or Sammy but for the life of him Dean wasn’t certain about either one. When it was apparent she was waiting on some kind of answer he finally guessed “...The second one?” despite having no clue.

The woman blinked at him for a long second before suddenly tossing her head back and laughing. It wasn’t a nice sound, loud and grating against Dean’s sensitive ears, but it must have meant he chose right. Since he’d apparently satisfied her he went back to watching the water bottle with single minded focus. If he was good enough maybe she’d let him have a drink. 

The woman’s amusement faded as quickly as it'd come when she noticed the object of it had returned to drooling over the bottle in her hands. “You’re no fun.” She told Dean with a pout though she supposed it was to be expected. Her job was to break him and while she had yet to lay a hand on him she had to admit she was doing a bang up job. Humans were weak, fragile creatures, she thought. Take away food and drink for a little bit and they turn right into putty in your hands. It was deliciously effective and she couldn’t quell the rush of satisfaction she got when she looked down at the mess of a man at her feet. The high and mighty Dean Winchester brought low at last, and all for a simple drink of water. Still, gloating was more fun with a captive audience which Dean was decidedly not. The woman sighed loudly, clearly put out as she told him: “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were being difficult on purpose though I suppose it's not all your fault.”

Dean just blinked up at her, dazed and confused and beyond words. The water was still in her hands and that was where his shaky attention lay. Above him the woman sighed like Dean was truly putting her through an imposition. The idea made his heart race and head spin because what if she thought he was too much trouble and left? Dean wasn’t sure he could stand it if she did… 

“I can see I’m not going to get anywhere with you.” The woman finally told him at length, all previous amusement gone. Playing with your food was only fun when it tried to get away, after all. “I suppose I’ll have to try again later.” She hummed as she made her way to the still-open door.

Wait! Where was she going? Panic exploded behind Dean’s eyes as the woman walked away causing him to surge up in desperation. It hurt but he hardly cared when she was leaving along with the water he needed! He tried to yell after her to stop but all that managed to come out was this gurgling croaking noise that barely sounded human. Still, it didn’t deter him from reaching out for her with his good arm, fully determined to stop her one way or another.

The woman paused in the doorway, turning to watch her prey scrambling after her. It was cute in a pathetic way and she couldn’t help but snort in derision. “How the mighty have fallen!” She declared with a sneer. “It seems in the end all you are is a pathetic waste of space.” With that she dropped the water bottle, satisfied that it landed just out of Dean’s reach. “Drink up, because that’s all you’re going to get!” She taunted as she turned and headed through the doorway. 

A moment later the door swung shut, once more plunging the room into darkness. The woman paused outside the door, head cocked as she listened. She wasn’t disappointed; from inside the room there came a despairing shout followed by the sounds of scuffling indicating Dean was scrambling for his prize. Chuckling to herself, the woman shook her head before moving away. It was too easy…


	10. Chapter 10

“I don’t like this.” Castiel declared as he paced the length of the motel room he and Sam were currently holed up in. It had been four days since their meeting with Frank at the bar and they were no closer to finding Dean and the mystery woman than they’d been when they started. It was beyond maddening and the angel itched to get out there and do something that would provide results to Dean’s whereabouts. 

“I know.” Sam sighed from his place at the hotel’s small table and chair set. The table before him was covered in papers with his open laptop in the middle for the little good it's all been so far. Four days and no leads. If Sam didn’t know better he’d swear Dean had simply disappeared into thin air for as much as he had to go on. Even hacking the bar’s security cameras had come up with very little. The grainy footage had shown Dean entering the bar but to the surprise of no one the camera had magically malfunctioned around the time he was supposed to have left. 

All in all it meant they were back to square one and their frustrations were mounting. At this point Sam didn’t know which of them was going to blow first but he had a sneaking suspicion it was going to be Cas. The angel didn’t like to sit idle, and it was worse when Dean was the cause of the angel’s unrest. Not for the first time Sam glanced up from his laptop to watch the angel pace. It was like watching a caged tiger at the zoo, he thought ruefully. He could _almost_ feel pity for whoever or whatever was going to take the brunt of all that built up frustration, but then again whoever had taken Dean had it coming to them.

“There must be some way to find him. A spell or something!” Castiel snapped, breaking Sam out of his thoughts. The angel had finally stopped his circuit of the room beside the windows and was now engaged in a staring match with an unlucky bird sitting outside on the sill. “Did you contact Rowena? Surely she has some kind of spell or a book that can locate Dean.”

Behind him Sam rolled his eyes because they’d been down this road for three of the four days now and had reached a dead end. “I talked to her this morning. She said she’s still trying out locating spells but so far she hasn’t had any luck. She keeps asking if it’s possible for him to have simply vanished.” And hadn’t that been a pleasant conversation? The fact that the most powerful witch they knew couldn’t find Dean had twisted Sam’s stomach into knots. “She said she’d call back if she found something.”

Castiel scowled, glaring as the bird he’d been staring at startled and took flight. He tracked its progress through the sky with his eyes, trying his best to find some semblance of calm. It wasn’t Sam’s, or even Rowena’s fault he was so tense. The feeling of wrongness had just continued to grow the longer they were stuck here in this town and the angel hated every passing second of it. The sooner they were able to collect Dean and get out of there the better. Finally he turned and focused on Sam with a serious expression. “I know you didn’t want to, and believe me I wouldn’t be saying this if there was another way but. . . I think we should contact Crowley.”

Across the room Sam exhaled heavily and closed his eyes. Crowley. He knew out of all their limited options the demon would be the best equipped to possibly find Dean but was it worth it to work with him? The thought made him inwardly shudder; Crowley was far more Dean’s friend than he was and given the chance Sam wouldn’t hesitate to stab the smug demon right in the face. It’d be satisfying… for thirty seconds at least. As much as he wanted to, Sam knew he couldn’t kill Crowley. Not only would Dean probably never forgive him, the power vacuum left in Hell from Crowley’s death wasn’t something the younger Winchester wanted to deal with either. 

Realizing he’d been quiet for too long he opened his eyes and sat up, giving the angel his full attention. “You’re right,” He admitted. “I don’t like it but I don’t think we have a choice in the matter anymore. Crowley can weasel into places we can’t and if anyone can find Dean it’d be him. The bigger question is, do you think he’ll help?”

“I don’t plan on giving him a choice.” Castiel rumbled, his eyes sparkling with barely contained grace. Given his innate urge to pummel something he almost hoped the demon would give them some resistance. He was sure taking the king of hell down a few pegs would be very satisfying indeed. 

Well that settled it then, didn’t it? “I’ll get the stuff.” Sam said as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. All the things they’d need for a summoning spell were in the impala’s trunk.

Twenty minutes later a devil’s trap had been carefully painted on the floor and all the items needed for a summoning were sitting in a bronze bowl among the piles of paper on the table. “Here goes nothing,” Sam muttered as he lit the match and tossed it into the bowl.

As seconds turned into minutes without anything happening Castiel grew irritated. “Are you sure you had the correct ingredients?” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. Having to work with the demon king made his feathers ruffle and the longer it took the worse the sensation got.

Luckily for Sam he was saved from answering by a smug sounding voice piping up from behind the angel: “Hello Boys.”

As one the human and the angel turned to find Crowley standing in the middle of the devil’s trap, a pleasant smile on his face. “Moose. Feathers. Haven’t you two heard of a nifty new invention called a cellphone? I take it this isn’t a social call?”

Castiel’s eye twitched; it was the only warning the demon got before he was up in his face, voice a menacing growl: “We don’t have time for your games Crowley!”

If the demon was phased, he didn’t show it. He did, however, arch an eyebrow as he looked over the angel’s shoulder at Sam standing there. “Really, Moose? You summoned me here just to sic your guardian angel on me? That’s not very sporting of you.”

If possible, Castiel’s growl grew even louder but before he could tear into the demon like he wanted to, Sam slid an arm in between them. “Enough!” He declared to Castiel, exasperated. “As much as you want to wipe the smarmy look off his face we need him.” 

The angel frowned, clearly displeased, but he finally backed down. “Fine.” He said gruffly as he backed away, though his eyes stayed firmly fixed on Crowley. 

“As touching as this is, I doubt you called me here to squabble.” Crowley piped up, plowing through the sudden tension with all the finesse of an eighteen wheeler plowing through a roadblock. “Let me guess, your squirrel is missing and you need help locating him.”

When he was met with identical disbelieving stares the demon rolled his eyes and began picking at an imaginary piece of link on his suit. “And here I thought you two were the smart ones, I’m highly disappointed, especially in you Moose.” He sighed, looking between Sam and Castiel like he was faced with a couple of particularly dense ten year olds. “If you two need help and the squirrel is nowhere to be seen then it’s not that large a leap to assume you need help finding him. Unless…” He trailed off, sparing the grubby motel around them a glance along with a disgusted snear. “You have him stashed away somewhere and our dear Dean _is_ the problem.”

Feeling Castiel tense beside him, Sam lept into action. “Look.” He started as he leaned in closer to Crowley’s face. “None of us like this situation and given the chance I’d stab you and let Cas finish you off for good but I won’t. You’re right; Dean’s gone missing and there’s no leads which is why we need your help. Surely you’ve got some way of tracking him.”

The demon stared back, completely unperturbed by the hunter’s comment. Sam could bark and growl all he wanted but they all knew the truth: if he really wanted Crowley dead then he would have done it already. Finally he heaved out a sigh like the little errand they were asking was a great burden. “I suppose I could use my resources to find your missing squirrel.” He said, though the look in his eye suggested there was more to his words. He carefully leaned back out of reach, as much as the demon trap would allow at any rate, and looked between the two of them. “And what about my payment? What will I be getting out of this should I locate Dean?”

“Are you serious?!” Sam all but yelled, patience finally at its limits. “Us not killing you should be payment enough!” Beside him Castiel let out a deep rumbling growl that meant the angel was about two seconds away from smiting Crowley, help or not. It was tempting to let Castiel have his way, oh it was so tempting, but Sam knew he couldn’t. There was only so far Crowley would let them push before he finally gave up the game and took it seriously. And if he couldn’t help them find Dean...well, Sam honestly didn’t know what would happen then. They had no other leads and nothing to go on; like it or not without Crowley they were screwed. “Okay!” He finally said at last, holding his hands up. He cast Castiel a warning glance before offering out in a rush: “One favor. To be paid _later_ , not now. We reserve the right to refuse.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” Crowley smirked, triumphant. “I love it when you get all ‘take charge’ Sam, darling. It’s a good look on you.” The demon grinned, shark-like with far too many teeth. “Now, I believe we have a deal. Castiel, be a dear if you will?” He gestured down at the devil’s trap keeping him contained.

With a look that burned of cold fury the angel dropped his hand, his blade sliding into it easily. He glared at the demon, whose smirk had only grown, as he knelt down beside the trap. _For Dean,_ he thought as he quickly sliced a line through the edge of the trap.

Above him Crowley smirked, tossing his head high. “As enjoyable as it is to see you or your knees before me I’m afraid I’m off to search! Ta-ta for now!” Then, before either Sam or Castiel could get a word in edgewise, Crowley disappeared.

For a few seconds neither hunter nor angel spoke before Castiel finally broke. “Next time I’m smiting him on the spot.” He growled as he stood, obviously displeased. 

Beside him Sam sighed and nodded his agreement, eyes still fixed on the place Crowley was standing. “Next time I won’t stop you. Let’s hope he can find Dean.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is by the lovely & talented Goblin*heart-eyescastiel! 
> 
> NSFW warning: Picture contains nudity and injuries

For someone who was used to growing up on the road waking in unusual places shouldn’t have been unsettling. In some instances this was true, but for Dean waking up to find himself sitting upright in a chair wasn’t one of them, _What the hell happened?_ He thought, groggy and uncoordinated as he blearily blinked at the room around him. While the pieces of where he was and why were just out of reach he felt certain enough that wherever he was wasn’t the same place he’d fallen asleep in. It wasn’t dark, for one, and for another the cavernous space looked oddly familiar though Dean couldn’t put his finger on why. 

There was precious little to go on; the uppermost part of the room was lined in windows that showed nothing but darkness beyond them indicating it was night. There was an industrial size broiler tucked into a far corner with miles of pipes spanning the unfinished ceiling from it. Add in the few sparse light bulbs flickering like they were candles and the decade and a half worth of dust coating everything and there you had it. Dazed, confused, and hurting, Dean swore if he didn’t know any better he’d say he was locked up in someone’s basement. _Huh_ , he thought as he mulled it over only to come to the grim conclusion that it probably wasn’t far from the truth. It was just a shame he couldn’t say it was the first time it’d happened.

How long he sat there alone with his thoughts he didn’t know but slowly the pieces were starting to reassemble. Dean remembered the bar, the woman, the dark room, the _second_ woman, getting shot…. The memories tumbled into place like a rock slide heading towards a highway and along with them came the myriad of aches and pains Dean had nearly forgotten. Everything flared at once; Dean’s shoulder and head danced the samba in a torturous beat with his heart as aches and pains all along the rest of him from his mistreatment awoken. 

He groaned under the onslaught. Involuntarily he jerked, trying to get away from the pain but unfortunately there was nowhere to go, The sharp movement only made everything hurt all the worse and caused him to groan. Great going there! He mentally chided himself, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was trapped and hurting and Chuck only knew how far from becoming a monster’s late night snack. Ugh. He bowed his head, more in the hopes it’d help escape the pain than anything else, and hoped like hell he could figure a way out of this mess.

Sadly for Dean luck wasn’t on his side. He’d no sooner resigned himself to whatever fugly was going to make him their dinner when a pair of black sneakers seemingly appeared on the ground before him. “...What?” He managed to ask stupidly as he blinked watery eyes at the shoes. They weren’t his--wasn’t hard to parse that considering he was still naked--but they weren’t ringing any bells in his abused head either. Thankfully (or not) the puzzle was taken out of his hands by a pair of cool to the touch hands that suddenly reached out and lifted his head. Dean blinked, dazed and beyond confused, at the pair of green eyes and pale faced woman staring back at him from mere inches away. 

There were a plethora of questions to be asked: namely, who was she and how the hell did she manage to sneak up on him, but Dean didn’t get to ask any of them. The woman brought one hand up to rest against his forehead like she was checking his temperature, absurd as it seemed, before it finally settled onto the top of his head. With one hand still on his chin and the other slowly tightening its grip in his hair, Dean found his head suddenly twisted this way and that as the woman inspected him.

“Hey!” Dean objected, the word breathless and barely there as he was manhandled. The world swum before his eyes as nausea climbed up his throat. Oh god, he was going to throw up. The thought came a millisecond before he actually did, or tried to at least. Considering he hadn’t eaten in hell knew how long nothing actually came up but trying sure hurt like a bitch nonetheless. Pain upon pain, would it never end? Dean didn’t think so as he struggled to think between his still-heaving, completely empty stomach and the myriad of aches and pains that were making his eyes water. It took far, far too long for Dean to realize the woman hadn’t let go of him. She had stepped back some, presumably just in case there was going to be actual vomit involved, but the hand that had been fisted in his hair was still there. Dean blinked, realizing this unsettling fact just as the woman began to laugh. 

The sound was far from nice, bordering more on cheesy horror movie villain monologue. It made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickle in fear even as the part of his brain not submerged in pain chanted ‘oh shit. Oh shit.’ He should have been doing something, anything, he knew, yet at the same time Dean felt frozen. This was by and far from his first tied up rodeo but for the life of him, in that moment, Dean had nothing. No weapon, no plans, no hope. The only saving grace was that neither Sam nor Cas was there to witness such a humiliating moment. _At least they’ll still think I'm a badass_ , he thought forlorn.

The woman didn’t seem to register the change in Dean’s attitude, or at the very least didn’t acknowledge it. She jerked his head up, eyes still full of mirth as she looked at him. “How pathetic.” She burst out between the chuckles that hadn’t quite died down. “The big bad Dean Winchester brought low by a simple bullet wound! Who would have guessed?”

Dean scoffed despite himself; it’d taken far more than a wounded shoulder to get him to the hot mess he was, but who was counting? He was fairly sure the dehydration and starvation had played larger roles in there as well--something he’d normally not be afraid to point out--but he managed to keep his mouth shut at the last minute. The last thing he wanted to do was get shot a second time, and besides, it wasn’t like he had the upper hand chained to a chair and buck naked either. 

“--You deserve so much more.” The woman had gone on, completely oblivious to Dean’s struggles. “If it was up to me I’d tear your skin off one strip at a time but _someone_ won’t let me.” The woman pouted dramatically as she leaned in, putting her face mere inches from Dean’s. “You should be thankful about that.” She said, calm and cool like they were discussing the weather instead of flaying Dean alive. “But one wrong move out of you and I’ll have to reconsider...”

The threat hung heavy in the air and pressed down on Dean’s chest like an invisible weight. He had little doubt the woman meant it, and a gunshot wound was one thing but having his skin stripped off was a whole ‘nother. He opened his mouth but before he could get anything out another voice rang out across the room: “What are you doing?!”

Dean blinked dumbly as the sharp sound of high-heeled footsteps echoed loudly in the room. Damn, he thought, panic clawing its way back through his stomach as he remembered there wasn’t simply one woman, but two. If he’d thought himself screwed before he was doubly so now and all he could do was sit and wait for whatever shits how was undoubtedly about to begin. 

He didn’t have long to wait; the second woman reached them in record time and before either Dean or the first could react, she had swung her hand out and backhanded the first woman across the face. “Just what the hell are you doing!?” The second woman demanded, her eyes dark and furious. “I thought we agreed to leave him in the room until we were ready?” She waved a hand at Dean, like it was somehow his fault he’d been drug out of wherever they’d been keeping him stashed and had managed to tie his ass into the chair. He would have objected if not for the way his head was spinning again thanks to the abrupt way the first woman had let go when she’d been hit. Ugh. If he got out of here without actually puking on anyone it was going to be a big freakin’ miracle.

For someone who’d just been on the receiving end of a bitch slap the first woman reacted fast. She swung back around, eyes inky black and furious, and raised her hand like she was going to strike out at the second woman. “You were taking too long!” She hissed, rage bleeding into her voice. “He was going to wither away in that deplorable cage before we could even touch him! Screw waiting! He should be screaming in agony for what he did!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The second woman screeched, looking about two seconds away from setting herself on fire just to escape the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Are you that stupid? This isn’t some dumb brained hunter; this is Dean Winchester! You saw what he did to Rick! That could easily be us!!” 

It was Dean’s turn to laugh though the sound came out more like a wheeze instead. It turned out laughing was a lot harder to do when you were hurting and injured and barely had the breath for it but damned if he didn’t care. Were these two for real? He was currently about as harmless (and certainly as weak) as a declawed kitten and this chick was worried about what he was going to do to them? If it wasn’t for the very real feel of chains holding him into the chair Dean would have thought he was having one hell of a vivid fever dream right now.

Thankfully the first woman piped up where Dean failed to do so: “Have you _seen_ him?!” She spat, gesturing to ‘the him’ in question like he wasn’t really there. “He’s broken! Useless! A few days without food and water and he’s NOTHING! We should just torture him and get it over with! Rick wouldn’t care for all this pussying around!”

The second woman rolled her eyes, tossing her thick curly hair over her shoulder like she was an affronted diva. “For fuck’s sake Ashleigh! Did you hit your head when you drug his ass in here? He’s a HUNTER! You can’t trust them no matter what you’ve done to them! Rick would say the same thing!”

“But Rick isn’t here, is he _Cindy?”_ Ashleigh sneered, spitting the name like it tasted foul on her tongue. “That’s because he _killed_ him like he was nothing!” Abruptly she turned back to Dean and swung for the fences--striking him squarely across the jaw. “Rick would want us to kill him just like this piece of trash killed him!”

Dean’s head, and most of his upper body, jerked as far as his bonds would allow from the force of the punch. It knocked the wind out of him and most of his common sense along with it. It was hard to tell with the way his brain was sloshing around but the pieces were starting to fall in place here if Dean could just get clear-headed enough to assemble them. There was something familiar about the names, not only the women’s but the other they kept saying: Rick. Dean had heard that before but where..

“Will you just stop!” Cindy shrieked, moving to shove Ashleigh away from Dean, her eyes black as her counterpart’s. “We can’t kill him yet! We were told to wait and we’ll do so! Or do you really want to see what he’ll do to you when he shows up and this scum is dead at your feet? I don’t know about you but I’m not willing to find out!”

Above him Ashleigh huffed but for the first time she didn’t dispute Cindy’s words. Meanwhile Dean blinked as the dots finally began to connect in his aching head. Ashleigh, Cindy, Rick...all three of the names were terrifyingly familiar and with a jolt Dean realized where he’d heard them before: from Sam when he was describing the school case. _Holy fuck!_ Dean thought, stunned. He hadn’t realized it at first because Sam had been the one to interview the witnesses, ie Cindy and Ashley, but now it was all starting to make sense. It’d sounded fishy that a random demon had decided to possess a janitor for no reason but to have a group of demons terrorizing the same small town? That made more sense...and also meant Dean was very, very screwed if Sam didn’t figure things out soon. _C’mon Sammy, where are you?!_

_[](https://i.imgur.com/j6N8AdH.jpg) _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter is by Goblin*heart-eyescastiel!

“Are you sure about this, Sam?” Castiel asked for the third time in as many minutes as the two of them glanced around the empty parking lot surrounding them. Crowley had called earlier with a supposed lead and now here they were, standing in a deserted parking lot of the local high school two towns over. Castiel didn’t like the situation one bit. It was bad enough that nearly another week had gone by since they contacted the demon but now they were here in a rapidly darkening lot with the demon nowhere in sight. Pushed far past his patience limit, the angel scowled as he stared up at the two story brick schoolhouse. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” 

Across the impala’s massive hood, Sam sighed. He was just as frustrated as Castiel was, at least he thought at any rate. While contacting Crowley had seemed like a good idea in the first place he was starting to have his doubts alongside the angel. Days of no contact only to be followed by a call that had simply pointed to the school was beyond irritating to the younger Winchester. “This is where he said to meet him.” He huffed, following Castiel’s gaze to the building across the lot from where they’d parked. Why the demon had insisted on meeting where he and Dean’s last case had been was baffling to say the least. Still, at this rate any lead was better than the absolute nothing they’d been going on. “I don’t get it. I’m sure Dean and I didn’t miss anything the last time we were here; it was an open and shut case. A rogue demon possessed the janitor and was wreaking havoc all over the place. I talked to a couple of the teachers here; it sounded like nobody else had gotten hurt.” At least Sam certainly hoped not, it’d been bad enough that the demon had done enough damage that the janitor hadn’t survived the possession.

“Ah, Moose. Haven’t you ever heard of returning to the scene of the crime?” A very familiar British accented voice called out from the shadows lurking at the far end of the parking lot.

Instantly both hunter and angel stiffened as they turned their attention to the shadowy area. There wasn’t much to see since the sun had gone down but the angel narrowed his eyes at a particular dark patch. “Crowley!” Castiel spat out the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, which it more than likely did.

Sam blinked, hesitating only a second before raising his gun and aiming towards the darkness. It wouldn’t do anything to the demon but there was something comforting in the gesture nevertheless. 

“Well well, what have we here?” Crowley drawled as he strolled out of the shadows, like he wasn’t the one who called them to come here in the first place. “Moose, it’s always a pleasure.” He nodded to Sam, completely ignoring the gun the hunter held. “Castiel, not so much.”

“Crowley…” The angel growled threatening, just barely resisting the urge to summon his angel blade. If it wasn’t for Dean being literally on the line he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to stab the demon in his smarmy face.

“What do you want with us, Crowley? Why are we here?” Sam interjected, glancing between the demon and the angel. While there was a good deal of space, plus the impala, between the two he didn’t trust either one of them to not turn this meeting into a brawl. As much as it’d serve Crowley right to be on the receiving end of an angel blade or the demon killing knife now wasn’t the time nor the place for it.

“Right to the point as always.” Crowley sighed dramatically like they had all the time in the world. “What’s the matter, Moose? Not in the mood for foreplay tonight?” For a demon Crowley managed to whip out quite the pouting face towards the hunter. “You’re no fun.” He declared after a moment when it seemed Sam wasn’t going to rise to the bait, before shrugging it off. “Ah, well. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” The demon paused, eyes flickering between the angel and the human again before settling on Sam once more. “I called you here because I have something the two of you want. Unless you’ve decided to leave poor Dean to his fate? Word on the street says he’s not in great condition, the poor dear.”

Across the impala, Castiel snarled and lunged at the demon...only to be stopped by Sam’s long arm reaching out towards him. It was surely a comedic thing to witness yet there was no laughing as Sam held the angel at bay. “Cas don’t!” He pleaded, willing the angel to listen to him. In response Castiel let out a disgusted sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl, but thankfully he stopped his advance. 

Sam huffed out a short sigh of relief before schooling his features once more. Deadly calm slipped over him as he swiveled around to face Crowley again. “Where’s Dean?” He demanded, his voice brooking no room for bullshit. He was impressed with the way his voice managed to stay steady despite the way he wanted to scream from the rooftops. He was beyond fed up with all the bullshit.

Well now, wasn’t this getting interesting? Crowley smirked to himself as he watched the show unfolding in front of him. It was beautiful, really. Sam was putting up a good front, quite admirable that, but the demon could see straight through him. The signs of exhaustion were painted on the human’s face alongside the dark bags hanging under his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead. He talked a big game, and Crowley had no doubt Sam was still deadly and not to be trifled with, but the man was still vulnerable. A good opponent could use that against him, but luckily for Sam Crowley was feeling generous today. “Now, now. We’ll get to Squirrel soon enough.” He placated, raising his hands, palm out. “How about first you call off your guard dog, eh? Then we’ll get down to business.”

“I’ll show you a guard dog!” Castiel growled, voice low and deadly. This time the angel didn’t hesitate to flick his wrist, enjoying the solid weight of his blade sliding into his hand. Just one shot was all he needed; just one… But before he could so much as cross around the car Sam was there, getting right up in his face. 

“Cas, please!” The hunter pleaded, eyes wide and seemingly large in the low light. “Look I’m right there with you in wanting to stab him. Trust me, I am, but you can’t. He knows where Dean is! We don’t have any other choice here!” Sam was talking rapidly, hands flying like he didn’t know quite what to do with them as he pleaded his case to the irate angel. He knew if push came to shove he probably wouldn’t be able to stop him from actually going after Crowley. “C’mon, just hold it together a little longer, if not for me then at least for Dean.”

Castiel growled and glowered, not pleased at all with the turn of events. As much satisfaction killing the demon would bring him he also knew Sam had a valid point. If the demon was to be believed Dean’s life was at stake and the angel wasn’t foolish enough to risk it for the mere satisfaction of destroying Crowley. “Fine.” He finally muttered like a petulant teenager, making a point to glare at the demon. “For Dean.”

_Thank Chuck!_ Sam thought, just barely resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This whole mess was conspiring to give him one hell of a tension headache and he couldn’t wait until it was all over with. As soon as they got Dean back and healed up Sam was going to give him such an ass chewing for leaving him stuck in the middle of things with the demon and angel. “Alright!” He finally said, turning to look between Castiel and Crowley. “Nobody is going to lay a finger on anyone else until Dean is found and is safe. Is that clear?”

While the angel simply glowered in the face of the hunter’s statement, Crowley was delighted. The demon tipped his head back and laughed, beyond amused that the man thought he could boss the King of Hell around. It was delightful and he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to tease about it. “Whatever you say Moose!” He chortled, pleased. “Your wish is my command!” 

It took a minute or two for the amusement to wear down but when it finally did he focused back on Sam and the serious look the hunter was giving him. “Well now, it seems our dear Squirrel has gone and gotten himself into quite the pickle.” He said, gaze flickering between Sam and Castiel. “My contact claims you did a case here a few weeks ago, demonic possession, yes?” At the hunter’s grudging nod of agreement he went on: “Well as it turns out the demon you two killed was part of a larger group and his followers were not thrilled to be divested of their leader.”

“Wait.” Castiel cut in, brow furrowing as he took in the demon’s words. “You’re saying Dean was kidnapped by a bunch of demons? But why?”

“Revenge my dear Feathers, why else?” Crowley shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “He took one of theirs so they decided to take one of yours. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think? An eye for an eye and all that.”

In two sharp strides Sam had crossed the distance between the impala and Crowley and had hefted the latter by his suit jacket. “Where is he?” He demanded, voice deadly calm and full of barely restrained rage. Dean would forgive him for killing Crowley, eventually.

“Hey! Watch the suit!” Crowley complained, face twisting into a cross between a pout and a snarl. Humans; there was no accounting for the taste of finer things! “Before you go getting your knickers in a twist there Sam, why don’t you stop and listen to what I’m saying? Dean’s been taken by a group of demons. I know you think you can take on anything alongside Feathers there but do you really think going in with guns blazing is the way to go here? Your brother is already injured, you could end up doing him more harm than good!”

Sam scowled, his face thunderous. As much as he didn’t want to admit it he didn’t have much choice...Crowley did, reluctantly, have a point. If Dean was as bad off as he said, and considering how long he’d been gone Sam was willing to bet he was, they needed to tread carefully. Slowly he lowered the demon back to the ground, but he kept his grip on the jacket. At the very least he knew he had Crowley’s full attention as he leaned in and repeated: “Where is he?” 

Crowley huffed, but nodded his head in thanks as his feet touched the ground once more. Sometimes he forgot the younger Winchester was much stronger than he looked, a fact he needed to remember in the future. “He’s in the school.” He indicated the building behind them with a jerk of his head. “Under heavy guard in the basement.” Here he sighed, the motion almost seeming human and morerose. “I’d love to take you to him but unfortunately the place is heavily fortified from the likes of me and,” he paused to jerk his head towards Castiel. “The angel as well.” Turning back to Sam he glanced down at where the human’s hands were fisted in his jacket before looking up at his face. “You might as well face it, Moose. Getting that brother of yours isn’t going to be a cake walk.”

Sam looked down at the demon as a slow smile began crossing his face. It wasn’t a nice smile, proving that he was the deadlier one between him and his brother. He tightened his grip in the fancy material before leaning down until his face was mere inches between his and Crowley’s. “I guess you’ll have to prove how useful you can be then, won’t you?”


	13. Chapter 13

WHAM! Dean’s head went sailing to the side as he was backhanded by one of the women. He choked out a painful gurgling sound, somewhat belatedly realizing he’d bitten his tongue. But before he could catch his breath, or spit out the blood that was growing in his mouth he found his head being jerked in the opposite direction by another fist. The gurgling turned into a whining moan, the only sound he seemed capable of as Ashleigh used his head as a punching bag. “Why?” Punch! “Don’t?” Punch! “You” Punch! “Fight” Punch!” Back?!” The demon growled as she pummeled his face one way and then the other in rapid succession. 

Some not quite insane yet part of Dean urged him to laugh because, seriously? Even if he was untied from the chair Dean didn’t have the strength to sit up properly, let alone actually fight. The fact that the demon was trying to gall him into doing so was beyond laughable. “You’re an idiot,” he told it, voice slurred and words nearly indistinguishable. 

The only response he got was another fist to the face. Pain blossomed across his awareness before the blackness rose up, dragging him back down into the depths of unconsciousness. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam sighed as he stared up at the two-story brick building in front of him. While the school hadn’t looked intimidating when he and Dean had initially canvassed it during their hunt it was a different story now. It was dark, for one thing, and there was no mistaking the sigils that liberally covered the windows of the place for another. A part of Sam had fervently hoped Crowley had been kidding about the place being warded against demons and angels but he had to (grudgingly) admit the demon was right. Every window Sam could see had been tagged and he had little doubt there were even more sigils on the inside of the building as well. 

“Great.” He muttered as he turned and headed back to the impala. He hated to admit it but he didn’t know where to go from here. The fact that they hadn’t been seen yet was a miracle; there was no way he’d be able to destroy that many sigils without being spotted, or worse, caught. It was stupid, but he wished Dean was here. His hot-headed older brother always seemed to have a plan, even if said plan involved the grenade launcher in the trunk. For a hot second Sam considered taking the same action but since he didn’t know exactly where Dean was in the building he quickly nixed it.

Thankfully Castiel was still standing beside the impala, right where Sam had left him. After being the bearer of bad news Crowley had disappeared though the angel still looked perturbed. Sam didn’t blame him--there wasn’t anything about this whole situation that didn’t suck the big goose egg. “Crowley wasn’t kidding.” Sam said when he got closer, ripping the bandaid off in one go. “From what I can tell all the windows have sigils on then and I’m betting there’s more on the inside as well.”

Castiel scowled, annoyance written onto every feature of his face. “I was hoping he was being misleading about the sigils.” He said, echoing Sam’s earlier thoughts. “Did you check the other side? There must be some way to get inside.”

Sam wanted to laugh though he was sure once he got started he wasn’t going to be able to stop from the unfairness of it all. “I circled around the back and from what I could tell all of those windows had the sigils as well. I noticed a few windows at ground level so the building must have some kind of basement in it but I’m not sure how helpful that would be. Crowley’s contact didn’t say where Dean was being held inside there, just that he was. It’s a lot of space to cover. We need some kind of plan.”

The angel looked less than amused as he took in Sam’s words before nodding decisively. “You’ll have to go in alone then.” He said as if it was as simple as that. “Given the space and the probability of encountering demons the basement seems like the logical place to start.”

Sam wasn’t thrilled, but what other choice was there? They were running out of time and at this point he was willing to go with a half baked plan than nothing at all. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

If there was one thing that was absolute fact among torture, no matter who was performing it, it was only effective as long as the one being tortured was awake. Case in point: the completely still and utterly unconscious form of one Dean Winchester. His head, heavily swollen under a mound of bruising and cuts was slumped down on his chest. A particularly large cut up near his hairline on the left side was bleeding sluggishly, sending a thin trail of blood snaking down the side of his face. All in all Dean looked like he’d gone ten rounds at the end of Ashleigh’s supernaturally-charged fist and lost.

And what was Ashleigh doing? Smirking; obviously. The demon was satisfied with a job well done; seeing the so-called great Dean Winchester at her mercy was exhilarating. After all, how many monsters out there could claim the same?

Unfortunately for her, Cindy was less than impressed with Ashleigh’s success. “What did you do!?” She screeched as she crossed the basement, her high-heeled shoes rapping loudly on the tiled floor. “You were supposed to subdue him! Not beat him senseless!”

Ashleigh whirled around with a sneer on her borrowed face. “He IS subdued!” She declared, sweeping an arm out at the unconscious Winchester. “What’s the big deal? I didn’t do anything to him he didn’t deserve! He’s lucky I didn’t do worse to him for what he did to Rick!”

“We were supposed to follow the plan!” Cindy snapped, disdain clear in her voice. “We were supposed to wait for the others!”

“What others!?” Ashleigh nearly screamed, gesturing wildly. “In case you didn’t get the memo WE ARE THE ONLY ONES HERE!!!!!! Nobody else is coming!!!!!”

Silence fell with the weight of an anvil. You could hear a pin drop in the massive space as the demons glared each other down. Before either of them could make a move however there was a strange sound coming from near the doorway...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A half baked plan, as it turned out, wasn’t any better than a full one, baked or not. Breaking into a school that was more than likely teeming with demons wasn’t as easy as Sam had initially thought. Of course it didn’t help matters either that a 6’4 man armed to the teeth wasn’t exactly as subtle as a ninja either. So needless to say when a familiar voice piped up from behind him Sam totally didn’t let out a terrified yelp of surprise. Sam spun around, eyes-wide and Ruby’s knife lifted in preparation to attack his would-be attacker...only to pause in the last second at seeing: “Crowley?”

“Hello Moose.” The demon king said, a smug smile firmly in place. “You look surprised to see me.” Crowley pointed out, his grin turning more shark-like as he eyed the younger Winchester. He was in a good mood so he was willing to let the human figure it out all on his own.

“I--you--how?!” Sam spluttered, all thoughts of being stealthy gone as he glared at the demon. “You lied about the sigils!” He accused as soon as he sorted it out in his head, eyes widening. “Why?” Even for Crowley’s twisted sense of amusement this whole thing seemed more complicated than it needed to be.

Crowley simply chuckled at him in response, clearly enjoying himself. “Truly Moose,” he tutted, “I thought you were smarter than this.” He rocked back on his heels, waving a hand to encompass the myriad of sigils covering the building. “Our dear bird-brained Castiel, was bothering me.” He shrugged like it was that simple, and it was likely the only answer Sam was going to get. “I wasn’t kidding about them preventing angelic interventions but demons on the other hand…”

“I am going to kill you!” Sam growled, beyond furious and completely done with the demon’s shit. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stab you right here and be done with it!” Dean would probably forgive him for it...eventually.

For someone who was staring down a pissed off giant threatening his life Crowley looked less than perturbed about it. In fact, one would maybe go so far as to say he was downright amused. “Promises, promises!” He sighed, batting his eyes like a schoolgirl just to fan the flames further. “Before you decide to test your skills against mine think about this: I can lead you to your dear irksome brother.”

Before Sam could so much as open his mouth to retort the demon king lifted his hand. With a large smile rapidly spreading across his face he snapped his fingers--

\--and transported both him and Sam into the basement of the school. There, clear across the room sitting in a chair was none other than: “DEAN!!!!!”


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel was good at waiting. One didn’t spend years upon years observing the Earth and the life upon it to not be good at watching and waiting. That didn’t mean, however, that Castiel _enjoyed_ waiting. It wasn’t the worst thing, perhaps, but being regulated to doing so when they were so close to finding Dean was, to say the least, maddening. The angel scowled as he observed the quiet expanse of the parking lot between him and the direction Sam had disappeared off to. Everything in him itched to go off in the same direction, to follow Sam in case he needed help, but he couldn’t. The damn sigils painted onto the building kept him at bay, and as Dean would say, the whole situation was completely ‘fucked up’. 

The angel turned back towards the impala with a barely restrained sigh. Dean’s baby was exactly where Sam had left her, parked quietly in the empty lot. It occurred to Castiel then, as his eyes roamed over the contours that she had been left, forgotten, just the same as he had. “I suppose we have that in common.” He said out loud, not bothered by the fact he was talking to a car who, obviously, couldn’t reply. Not that Castiel was expecting one. Except for that time when Gabriel had turned Sam briefly into one, cars, as Castiel had come to know, generally didn’t talk back.

That was fine, as far as the angel was concerned, and it didn’t stop him from continuing his conversation. Humans would find it strange, perhaps, but for Castiel there was something strangely soothing about speaking to the impala in the quiet. Perhaps, he mused, it was like he was talking to Dean. The car was an extension of the man after all. “I’m sure Sam will return with Dean soon.” Castiel told the impala, though it was unclear which of them he was trying to reassure. He still wasn’t happy with the current situation, and the longer it went on the more antsy he found himself getting. Luckily--or perhaps, unluckily--Castiel was going to find his waiting had come to an end. Whereas the car couldn’t respond back to his empty platitudes the sudden voice that spoke up behind him could: 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I was you!” The sharp, southern twang of an unfamiliar voice had the angel turning….only to find himself surrounded. Somewhere along the way the angel had lost his touch for he was now surrounded by half a dozen demons, all of them with leering grins on their borrowed faces. The one closest, who’d spoken, was wearing a sharp suit with a small “Principal” badge affixed to the pocket. It leaned in close, its black eyes glinting. “Looks like you’re in a bit of a tight spot!” It taunted, its words loud and heavily accented. 

For his part Castiel stiffened at the intrusion, sharp eyes taking note of the individual demons. They were exactly what Sam had described from his and Dean’s original case: hiding out in the bodies of the unfortunate teaching staff of the school behind them. Why they had targeted such a place the angel didn’t know, and at the moment he didn’t care. With a subtle flick of his wrist his angel blade slid neatly into his palm. Six against one wasn’t the greatest odds but he’d had worse. Faster than lightning he lunged towards the demon who’d spoken; there’d be time for questions later.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“DEAN!!!” Sam’s shout echoed loudly in the nearly empty room and caused two of the three of the far figures to swivel their heads in his direction. Unfortunately the one he wanted to look his way, Dean, didn’t move. He hadn’t even so much as twitched, in fact, and the knowledge made a ball of lead drop heavily into Sam’s stomach. It was impossible to tell given the distance between them but what if he was too late? What if Dean was already dead? There was certainly enough blood, and the stillness wasn’t helping… Before he could get himself worked up too much about whether or not his brother was breathing or not, the two women who had been guarding Dean attacked. They crossed the room with a speed Sam hadn’t seen coming and he barely managed to move out of the way of the one’s swinging fist. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled again as he ducked and dodged, hoping beyond hope that the sound of his voice would rouse his brother. _Please don’t let him be dead!_ He thought frantically, trying to cast as many glances in the direction of his brother he could. It was a bad move--one Sam realized too late as he found his head snapping backwards at the force of a supernaturally charged punch. He his the floor like a sack of potatoes and went sliding across it.

“Sam Winchester!” A familiar female voice boomed from somewhere above him as Sam raised his suddenly aching head, blinking blearily. He’d hit his head when he’d hit the floor and his head pounded its displeasure. Sadly for him, and his head, the women didn’t give a damn. “We were so hoping you’d come join us!” The one said as they crowded around him. “Yeah!” The second one popped up, voice way too cheerful by half. “One Winchester was good but two is icing on the cake!” 

“Our dear squirrel is out for the count, it seems,” a very familiar, very annoying British voice whispered unexpectedly from right beside Sam’s right ear. The hunter groaned; between seeing his brother trussed up like a Christmas turkey and his demon guards Sam had nearly forgotten about Crowley. Part of him was surprised the demon hadn’t flitted off to parts unknown, but the bigger part of Sam was grateful. It was nothing he would ever admit, of course, but the sentiment was still there. 

“Having you as bait wasn’t part of the plan,” Crowley said, the smugness strong in his tone and doing an excellent job of overriding what the female demon was saying. “But we can work with this. Be a good boy and distract them; I’ll work on getting Dean out of here.”

Wait. What? Bait?? Sam blinked, still dazed from the blow to the head. Part of him wondered if that had even happened or he’d just had some kind of weird hallucinating thing going on but the female demon was right there before he could figure it out. She leaned over him, her bright pink JCPenny styled pants suit a glare of blinding color hurting Sam’s eyes as she smirked down at him. “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt….” She practically purred… right before hitting him square in the face. 

Pain blossomed and darkness rose but before Sam fully fell into it he sincerely hoped that he hadn’t imagined the past few minutes. Hopefully Crowley was still around out there somewhere and he’d get Dean out…

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sam needn't have worried; Crowley was a professional. Besides that it was almost laughably easy to slip past the two females unnoticed. With all their attention focused on the giant hunter they didn’t even pay Crowley any mind as he moved towards the unconscious form still bound in the chair. It was an error the two would come to find rectified by either the end of Sam’s blade or Crowley’s. He didn’t train any of his legion to be slouches and these two were doing an excellent job of proving how much they’d forgotten. 

“Amateurs.” He snarled under his breath as he finally reached Dean. Up closer the smaller Winchester didn’t look well at all; his face was swollen nearly beyond recognition and he stank to high heaven from a mixture of sickness and sweat and grime. At least the two demons had gotten one thing right, Crowley mused as he set about removing the chains from Dean’s body. They’d done well to incapacitate the hunter which worked well for both their current plans. 

Unfortunately for Crowley, the best laid plans were no match for a Winchester...even including one who’d been knocked out cold. Dean groaned, quite possibly the only sound he was capable of making at the moment, as he began waking. It was a quiet sound, barely loud enough to be heard, but it was enough for the demons. _Great timing squirrel!_ Crowley grumbled under his breath as the two turned and took notice of him at last. 

Luckily he’s been preparing for this, at least in some form. Crowley didn’t go anywhere without at least three backup plans and backups for those as well. He straightened, zeroing in on the two with his haughtiness glare. “And what do the two of you have to say for yourselves?” He demanded, waving an arm out to indicate the room at large. “I thought it was weak when I heard you lot decided to take over a school of all things but this? This is pathetic!”

Ashleigh and Cindy froze, shocked at seeing the King of Hell himself before them. “My liege—“ Cindy started but was bowled over by Ashleigh blurting: “We captured the Winchester’s! We thought you’d be pleased!”

“Do I look pleased?” Crowley snapped, all patience abruptly gone in the face of the sheer stupidity. What was Hell coming to if this was the caliber of demons he had to deal with? He sighed, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And now you've captured them, you intend to do what?” He asked, curious to just what the plan was and to see if they were truly as stupid as they appeared to be. 

“You should be!” Clearly Ashleigh was the ringleader of the two if the fact she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut was any indication. “Rick would be grateful for what we did to that scum—“ and here she pointed angrily at the still slumped over figure of Dean, “—after what he did to him! You should be thanking us!”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he laughed. The sound was far from pleasant, however. “You are fools.” He told them, his voice deadly calm as he looked between the two of them. He was pleased to sss the way they hung on his every word despite the growing indignation on Ashleigh’s stolen face. “Just as was Rick and the rest of his deranged little band. Did you truly think you would get away with this? Hell is chock full of idiots who think they could beat the Winchester’s but somehow you and your merry band must have missed the memo!” Crowley’s voice had risen with every word until it was practically ringing from the rafters. “I can’t say I’m disappointed by this!”

Before Ashleigh and Cindy could offer up a retort there was screaming followed by flashes of light as Sam Winchester stabbed first one then the other with Ruby’s knife. As the bodies dropped to the floor, still smoking, he looked up and met Crowley’s eyes. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

The demon shrugged, not looking the least bit perturbed by the other two’s deaths. “Miracles do happen I suppose.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Cas!” Sam called out as soon as he and Crowley exited the school building and started across the parking lot. He huffed a little under the strain of Dean’s weight in his arms but he simply tightened his grip; he wasn’t willing to put him down. Dean was, thankfully, still out for the count. While on one hand it meant he was dead weight in Sam’s arms it also meant he wasn’t awake to object to being carried ‘princess’ style which was a win in Sam’s book. Still, Sam wasn’t going to feel better until the angel had a chance to look his brother over. Neither he nor Crowley had stopped to consider the full extent of Dean’s injuries before getting him the hell out of there. 

He was surprised to see it was still dark outside considering the way time had seemed to drag on when they were in the school. The sky was getting lighter, Sam noted absently, which meant they needed to get a move on to get there before full daylight hit. The longer they stayed the more possibility of answering questions they couldn’t growed and frankly Sam was more than ready to leave this town in the dust. He was sure Dean would feel the same way once he woke up.

“Sam?” Castiel called as he stepped away from the shadows surrounding the area where they left the impala. His tone was one of relief, and the feeling only grew when he laid eyes upon Dean resting in Sam’s arms. He crossed the lot quickly, stepping around the few bodies of the burned out demons in his haste to get to his friends. “You’re alive,” he said in wonder as he finally reached the group, looking between the three of them.

“So are you,” Sam remarked, the corners of his lips twitching up in a smile despite the circumstances. “Did you have any trouble?” He asked, looking past the angel’s shoulder at the bodies on the ground with a growing frown. 

The angel didn’t answer him, instead taking the opportunity to lift his hand to Sam’s forehead. The bright whitish-blue glow of angelic grace flashed in his eyes and in his fingertips for a brief second before fading away. Sam exhaled in relief as the dull throbbing headache he’d been dealing with faded away into nothingness. Before he could thank Castiel, however, the angel was already on the move. Carefully, almost like he was afraid to break him, the angel gently cupped Dean’s face. The same whitish-blue glow flowed from it leaving Sam to watch in wonder as Dean’s wounds slowly began to heal and fade away before his eyes. No matter how many times he saw it happen a bit of him was always awed at the power of angels. 

After a few long moments the glow of grace receded but the angel’s hand remained on Dean’s face. His head was bent forward, his brow furrowed as he studied the sleeping hunter’s now-peaceful face. “Dean?” He said, the hope was almost too much to bear after all the weeks of near hopelessness. For a few seconds the hunter, the angel, and the King of Hell all watched with bated breath to see what would happen. 

They weren’t disappointed; a few more seconds and there came a hitching breath from the unconscious hunter before green eyes finally popped open. Dean woke in full Winchester style; zero to sixty in less than a second flat which meant he also tensed up and nearly fell right out of Sam’s arms! “Sam! What the hell man!?” He yelped as he realized he was being held by his ginormous baby brother. “Put me down!”

For a single hot second there was nothing but dead silence but then Sam burst out into great sobbing laughter. He lowered his brother as requested, but he didn’t let go of him. He couldn’t talk for laughing so hard and simply settled for hugging his brother despite Dean’s indignant squawking otherwise. Seeing his brother awake and alive and close enough to touch lifted a huge weight off his chest that had been slowly suffocating him for weeks. The absolute relief was profound and Sam would be damned if he was going to let his brother destroy it before he got to fully enjoy the sensation.

“What the hell is going on here!? Sam? Cas?” Dean’s head whipped around as he looked between his brother and his angel without getting answers from either one of them. Castiel was still close but he looked just as relieved as Sam felt. Dean didn’t even know where to start and the fact that he was tired to boot wasn’t helping things either. Resigned, he slouched back down into Sam’s hold and patted the giant’s arm that was still around him. “Okay Sasquatch, okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam said at long last when he finally managed to calm down enough to talk again. “Don’t do that to me again! Do you know how worried I’ve been?!” 

From his position in the semi-hug/hold his brother had him in, Dean snorted. “I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped again.” He deadpanned, though inwardly he shivered because the experience wasn’t one he wanted to have to live through again…

Before either Sam or Castiel could voice their thoughts on the matter there was a cough to their left causing all eyes to turn to Crowley. “As touching as this whole thing is I’ll be taking my leave.” The demon said, glancing between the hunters and their angels. “But before I go…” He snapped his fingers causing Dean to yelp, and turned Sam and Castiel’s attention back to the hunter.

“Dean? Are you okay?” Sam asked, worried, lacing his voice as he stepped back and eyeballed Dean up one side and down the other, looking for injuries. Castiel was doing the same but there was nothing to see: Dean looked as healthy as he’d been when he initially disappeared. 

Though it didn’t stop the rapidly spreading blush across his face and neck as he looked down at himself. “I’ll be damned.” He muttered, looking down at the well-worn flannel and jeans he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped, all back in prime condition, or what stood for it in Winchester’s world, of the word. He hadn’t realized he’d still been naked until the clothes had materialized on his body and he didn’t know whether to be irked or thankful for the demon for helping him out. 

In the end it didn’t matter anyway; when he looked back over to where Crowley was it was to find the demon had already gone. Rolling his shoulders, he stifled a yawn as he turned his attention back to his brother and his angel again. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He repeated, and he almost believed the words. He was far from fine mentally, but after a few weeks he was sure the whole experience would just be another nightmare to add to the pile. “What do you say we hit the road?”

Neither Sam nor Castiel looked convinced, but thankfully neither one pressed the issue further. Sam glanced up at the sky, taking note of the rapidly lightening horizon and nodded. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” He said, and made to move across the lot. 

Dean and Castiel stood there for a moment, their eyes locked together in a deep stare before a small smile finally overtook Dean’s face. “C’mon sunshine,” he said, before heading towards the impala. “Let's go home.”


End file.
